


illusions of a hopeless heart

by groundopenwide



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I swear it, M/M, Soulmates, Unrequited Love, and it takes awhile to actually get to the huntbastian, despite what the endless list of pairings may suggest huntbastian is endgame, hooray slow burn, lots and lots of angst though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hunter Clarington wakes up on his twenty-first birthday to find his best friend's name tattooed to the inside of his wrist, his entire world begins to crumble before his eyes. What has he done to deserve a lifetime of watching his soulmate love someone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hunter awakens on the morning of his twenty-first birthday to the patter of raindrops against the window and a name inked onto the inside of his wrist.  
  
His eyes flutter open slowly, the familiar walls of his bedroom eventually coming into focus as he rolls onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling. The shower outside continues unabashedly, each splash of water a pinprick of noise on the glass, and Hunter loses himself in the sound of it for a long moment.  
  
But he can only put it off for so long.  
  
There is a stirring in his gut, something anxious yet hopeful at the same time. He can't seem to decide what to feel. There is a part of him that aches to look, that awaits the surge of relief that will wash over him once he finally _knows_ , but the other part of him is terrified, because he's seen the other side of things. He doesn't want that to be him. It _can't_ be.  
  
He is twenty-one today, and it should feel liberating. He should already be planning out his map of attack on all of the local bars, but instead, he is lying in bed, waiting to find out the name of the person he is now tethered to for the rest of his life.  
  
The skin of his wrist tingles just then, as if reminding him of what now resides there. It's almost a mockery of the after-sensations of an actual tattoo- or, at least, that's what Hunter has heard it's supposed to be. If only it really were a tattoo. Something "permanent," but not so, because the only thing a tattoo attaches itself to is skin, not heart and mind and soul and body.  
  
Hunter's stomach lurches, and he finally sits up in bed, his arms still hanging limp at his sides.  
  
_Look_ , his brain commands.  
  
There is a second before Hunter lifts his hand and turns his arm over, in which he thinks that maybe this is all just a fluke. Maybe he'll be some absurd exception, and that there won't be a name on his wrist, that the ache traveling up his limbs is only a phantom pain that doesn't really mean anything.  
  
He cradles his wrist in his opposite palm and glances down.  
  
His world stops.  
  
"No," he chokes out.  
  
It has to be a mistake; he knows that this has happened before, to a few people, but it isn't supposed to happen to _him_. What has he done to deserve this? The letters pressed into his skin seem to taunt him, the characters swirling and blending together as Hunter's vision grows fuzzy, and he just wants to _die_. His throat constricts, and his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, and everything is so, so wrong.  
  
Hunter is a good guy. He's smart, compassionate- he's done well with the cards he's been dealt, has played them in all the right ways.   
  
But now he's been dealt a joker, and his entire strategy has been torn to shreds in a matter of seconds.  
  
Jesse St. James' name loops its way across the inside of Hunter's wrist, contrasting starkly against the pale white of Hunter's skin, and Hunter already knows for a fact that it isn't his name that's carved into Jesse's.  
  
It's Rachel Berry's.

*

When Hunter Clarington was six years old, his parents told him that he would one day find his soulmate.  
  
It sounded like something out of one of his storybooks. Hunter was eager with his questions, had asked them things like, _will she be pretty?_ and, _she's_ _gonna like baseball, right?_ His parents had laughed fondly before explaining to him that they didn't know _who_ his soulmate would be, only that he'd eventually have one, and that they would "love each other forever."  
  
Hunter's parents, in fact, were one of many products of this very tale. On their highly anticipated twenty-first birthdays, Jack Clarington and Annabelle Pierce had woken up on opposite sides of the country with each others' names scrawled onto their wrists. Jack had quickly done his research, and traveled to Baltimore that night, where he saw Annabelle for the very first time, and all of the pieces slotted into place.  
  
Of course, not everyone is so lucky.  
  
For a very select few- so select that they are but a mere blip on the scale of the world's population- the name that greets them has already greeted someone else. No one is sure why this minority is faced with such devastatingly bad luck, but it occurs nevertheless, and these people are cursed with a lifetime of longing after a person who has bonded fully and completely with someone else.  
  
And now, Hunter is one of them.

*

Acutely, he realizes that his body is trembling, and he forces himself to climb out of bed on shaky legs. The world around him is hazy, as if he can't quite focus on anything, and he stumbles to his closet rather ungracefully, pulling out the longest sleeved shirt that he owns and tugging it on. The fabric slips down past his wrists, and he curls his fingers around the edges of the sleeves to hold them in place before shuffling out of his bedroom and into the main area of the apartment.  
  
Perhaps if he just doesn't look at it, the words will disappear. He will wake up tomorrow, and someone else's name will be inked into his skin, someone equally perfect for him. Someone who is actually _available_.  
  
The image of Jesse's calm, teasing smirk surfaces in Hunter's mind, and it isn't seconds before he is hunched over the toilet in the bathroom and hacking up his dinner from the night previous.

*

Hunter met Jesse his senior year of high school.  
  
He transferred from a military school out in Colorado to Dalton Academy, an all-boys private school in Westerville, Ohio just before the school year began. Dalton had recruited him as a captain for their nationally-renowned show choir, the Warblers, and Hunter had gratefully accepted, excited at the prospect of leading a group of boys in an area that he was so passionate about.  
  
Singing had been a hobby of his since elementary school, when he ended up in a small recreational choir at the church his parents attended. He continued with the choir all the way through eighth grade, until his father sent him off to military school in hopes that the mixture of education and discipline would serve Hunter well for the future. And serve him well, it had; not only were the academics rigorous, but Hunter found himself a member of their top-of-the-league baseball team, while juggling the other standard physical activity sessions on the side. He lost touch with his performing side for awhile, too busy trying to stay afloat at a school full of other high-achieving, determined students, and it wasn't until his father agreed to allow him to transfer to Dalton that he realized just how much he had missed singing.  
  
The Warblers welcomed him into the fold without complaint. Within the first few weeks at Dalton, Hunter had grown close with most of the boys in the group, amongst whom were Nicholas Duval and Jeff Sterling, Warblers since freshmen year and all-around good guys. Hunter considered them to be the two he knew best out of the team, and he often found himself getting roped into their dumb pranks, adding Nair to Thad Harwood's shampoo or hanging a bucket of red-dyed water over the chemistry professor's door. Eventually, Hunter had grown so comfortable at Dalton that military school was nothing but a distant memory. He also had the Warblers exhibiting such talent that they were on their way to Nationals in New York City, and everything seemed to be working in his favor.  
  
That's when he met Jesse.  
  
He'd heard rumors about Vocal Adrenaline through the show choir gossip circuit, and Nick and Jeff had repeatedly dropped Jesse's name in passing when discussing their competition. However, he still found himself somewhat awestruck as he watched the team's performance at Nationals- they were positively _flawless_ , and Jesse's voice was something not even able to be described by words. Hunter had stared, rapt, and he would have been nervous to go up against such stiff competition if he hadn't been so captivated.  
  
Of course, the Warblers came out respectably with their fourth-place finish, considering the circumstances. But it was afterwards, as the members of Vocal Adrenaline were crowded around their first-place trophy and celebrating amongst themselves, that Hunter truly remembers. He had walked over to the group, spotting Jesse within the chaos, and made his way towards the boy, his hand already outstretched.  
  
"Congratulations," he called out, and Jesse had turned in his direction, acknowledging him with a warm smile and the slip of his hand into Hunter's own. Something had slithered its way up Hunter's arm, a tingling sensation that left him slightly breathless, and looking back, maybe this should have been a sign of how in a matter of years, this meeting would prove to be an absolute curse.  
  
But Hunter had merely returned Jesse's smile, the genuine _thanks, you guys were amazing too_ that had left the boy's mouth causing something warm to curl in his gut, and said, "I'm Hunter Clarington."  
  
"Jesse St. James," came the reply, and Hunter had laughed.  
  
"I know," he stated.

*

He and Jesse kept in contact for the rest of the year. They exchanged a few words over facebook at first, simple pleasantries and boring getting-to-know-you messages, until Jesse had suggested Hunter come out for Jesse's eighteenth birthday about a month after Nationals. They spent the evening cracking jokes and rambling on about anything that came to mind, and after that, hardly a day passed that they didn't speak. When Hunter's college acceptance letters came, the Columbia logo standing out proudly at the top of the stack, Jesse was the first person he called after Nick and Jeff, and the boy's reaction didn't disappoint.  
  
"I knew you'd get in," Jesse responded simply, and Hunter had rolled his eyes.  
  
"No, you didn't," he muttered while shaking his head. "But thanks. Now quit holding out on me and tell me if your NYADA letter came already."  
  
The line had been silent for a long moment, and Hunter could just /tell/ that Jesse was stringing him along on purpose.  
  
Finally, his friend spoke. "Of course I got in. What did you expect?"  
  
_Cocky asshole_ , Hunter had chuckled into the receiver, and Jesse had merely snorted in reply and mumbled, _you like it._  
  
Come the fall, Hunter was attending school in New York with one of his best friends, and he'd never been happier.

*

He dry heaves into the toilet for a good twenty minutes.  
  
Nothing but acid has been coming up for awhile, now, but Hunter stays where he is, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. The apartment is quiet around him, not even the sound of the rain audible from where he sits, and he hates it. He hates the silence, and the churning in his gut, and the fact that his mind keeps chanting Jesse's name as if it's stuck on a loop, something unrelenting and never ending.  
  
If this is what the rest of his life is going to be like, Hunter would rather just end it now.  
  
He inhales a shuddering breath and manages to drag himself up to his feet, flushing the toilet a handful of times and then brushing his teeth twice to get the repugnant taste out of his mouth. Meanwhile, he can hear his phone begin to vibrate from across the hall in his bedroom, and he steadfastly ignores it, sure that it's either Jesse, Nick, or Jeff calling to wish him a happy birthday and force the "good" news out of him.  
  
Hunter desperately wishes that he had something "good" to tell them.  
  
The buzzing noise stops after a minute, but then starts up again seconds later, and Hunter groans, shutting off the light in the bathroom and heading out towards the kitchen instead. He needs coffee, and then he needs to fabricate a lie to tell his friends about the whole situation. Or a pill that will miraculously undo the past two hours, he isn't picky.  
  
His sleeve slips up an inch as he reaches for a mug, and Hunter furiously tugs it back down as the black ink peeks out from beneath the fabric.   
  
The denial is still heavy in his stomach.  
  
_Maybe you misread it,_ his mind suggests, but he only entertains the idea for a millisecond. There's no way he could have imagined it. It is Jesse's name on his wrist, and every fiber of his being screams with the reality of it.  
  
The coffee machine beeps to signal that it is finished brewing, and Hunter slumps forward against the counter to bury his head in his hands.

*

Jesse met Rachel in the middle of their freshman year at NYADA.  
  
Hunter only really saw him on weekends, since they were at different schools and were both forced to live on-campus for the first year of attendance. Therefore, he wasn't introduced to Rachel himself until a few weeks later, when he and Jesse were out at some piano bar named Callbacks. It was apparently a hotspot for NYADA students, even the underaged ones, as it didn't card anyone with a student ID, and Jesse had dragged him out to it on the grounds that _Columbia students studied too much_. Hunter had shoved his friend none too gently on the shoulder, declaring that it wasn't _his_ fault he didn't attend ballet classes for a grade, but went with him nonetheless.  
  
They had just wormed their way through the crowd to an empty table when a rather enthusiastic and feminine voice had called out Jesse's name, and Hunter turned around to witness a short brunette throwing her arms around his friend's neck, Jesse's unmistakable laugh of delight coming from over the girl's shoulder.  
  
"Rachel!" Jesse greeted as they separated, and his grin was so wide that Hunter had been worried it might split open his friend's face. Before he knew what was happening, his friend was pulling him over to his side and introducing him to this _Rachel_ , whose hand was already outstretched politely.  
  
"It's nice to meet you!" she squeaked, as Hunter slipped his hand into her own.  
  
"Likewise," Hunter called over the music, mustering up his warmest smile. "This idiot's spoken pretty highly of you."  
  
At that, Rachel had blushed, and Jesse nudged him pointedly in the back before taking over the conservation once more. "Care to sit with us, Rach?"  
  
Rachel had mumbled an affirmative, and the three of them had taken a seat at a table off to the side of the room, where Hunter quickly realized just how much the girl liked to talk. And talk.  
  
Thankfully, it hadn't been too terribly awkward, Rachel's kindness and Jesse's constant jokes enough to keep Hunter from feeling like a third wheel. As it turned out, Rachel was quite something, with her surprising snark and mind blowing talent to boot. Hunter had watched in amusement as she dragged Jesse up onstage to sing a duet with her, their voices blending perfectly in a rendition of _Hello_ by Lionel Richie, and it wasn't long after that night that Rachel became a permanent fixture in their lives.  
  
It was no surprise at all, really, when on their twenty-first birthdays, Jesse and Rachel found each other's names on their wrists.

_*_

_Hi, you've reached Hunter. Leave a message after the beep._  
  
"Jesus, Hunt, what'd you do? Go out and get drunk last night instead? Your birthday's _today_ , dumbass. Call me back. Rachel wants to know if we're doing all dive bars, or if she actually has to bring her ID."  
  
_Click._

*

Hunter never saw much point in dating. With the inevitability of turning twenty-one and finding someone else's name on his skin, he figured he would spare himself the difficulty and the heartbreak of managing to meet someone he might actually like, and then having to dump them when the time came. He'd seen it work out before, of course- with Jesse and Rachel being the obvious example- but he'd also seen it go horribly wrong, such as when his cousin had to go through the shocking ordeal of calling off an engagement with his girlfriend of two years.  
  
The entire family had been thrown when Anthony found the name of a girl in his Psych 101 class on his wrist, and Hunter had watched as his cousin suffered through a long six months of losing himself to the remorse. His supposed soulmate, Christina, had remained loyally by his side the entire time, but it had been obvious that things were taking a toll on her as well. The few times Hunter had spoken with her, she'd been exhausted, yet surprisingly vigilant in her hopes that things would work out. And eventually, they did; Anthony's ex-fiancée found her soulmate in a man named Josh, and soon, Anthony and Christina were through the trouble of the months that had passed and were on their way to being a happily bonded couple.  
  
Hunter still remembers what it had been like, though. He remembers how often his aunt- Anthony's mother- would call up his own, sobbing down the line and choking out curses towards whoever had done this to her boy. And of course, Hunter remembers Anthony, the guilt that his cousin had lived with for so long- and probably still does.  
  
It was the fear of something like _this_ happening that kept Hunter from putting himself out there. This, unfortunately, had also meant that he'd never really explored his sexuality, what he found himself attracted to or what he wanted in a partner. It didn't seem to matter much, at the time, since he wouldn't have a choice when the time came, anyway, but he'd for some reason always been under the impression that his soulmate would be female. Most couples were heterosexual, though there was also a decent amount of same-sex ones as well. Hunter had just automatically assumed that he would be within the majority, and had never entertained the thought of his partner being male as well.  
  
As it turned out, however, he wouldn't be within the "majority" at all.

*

The knock on his door doesn't come until close to two o'clock in the afternoon. Hunter is surprised that they've lasted this long, but he still doesn't feel any more certain about the situation at hand as he hesitantly makes his way from the couch and opens the door. He sees Rachel first, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she sports a look of annoyance. However, Hunter doesn't even have the chance to appear guilty, because the door is being forced open wider and there is Jesse, and the breath leaves Hunter's lungs in an undignified _whoosh_.  
  
It's like his heart crystallizes into a million different pieces all at once and then comes back together again. A pang thrums steadily through Hunter's chest, and he can't see anything except _Jesse_. The way his hair curls around his forehead, the sparkle in his blue eyes, the tiny mole next to his nose. He's seeing his best friend in an entirely new light, and the sudden wave of longing that crashes over Hunter is so overwhelming that he feels as if he might collapse right there in the doorway.  
  
Jesse is staring back at him in utter confusion, and Hunter scrambles to compose himself, his fingers slipping from the door and dropping to his side as he tugs restlessly at the edge of his sleeve to keep it in place. He forces himself to clear his throat, gathering enough air in his lungs to mumble out a stoic, "hey."  
  
Rachel pushes past him into the apartment, Jesse following quickly behind her, and Hunter shuts the door slowly, slowly, avoiding the conversation that awaits him as long as he possibly can. His friends are having none of it, though, and when he turns around, they are both staring at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
It hurts to look at Jesse, so Hunter immediately drops his gaze back to the ground.  
  
"'Hey?' That's all you have to say?" Rachel demands. "It's your birthday, and you've been ignoring us all morning!"  
  
"I'm...sorry?" Hunter mutters weakly.  
  
Jesse's scoff echoes loudly throughout the room, and Hunter winces internally, just the sound of his friend's breath enough to set him on edge. All he wants to do is reach out and grab hold of any part of Jesse that he can reach. He literally aches with it, this craving to touch, but he can't, and it's absolutely killing him. The hollow ache in his chest is growing by the second, and he doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to handle a _lifetime_ of this when Jesse and Rachel aren't even _touching_ right now.  
  
Jesse's expression softens after a moment, and he murmurs, "Come on, Hunt, something's bothering you. What's going on?"   
  
His voice is soft, so full of concern that Hunter wants to weep. As it is, he has to fight to suppress a shudder as his own nickname leaves his friend's lips, and he manages to shoot a brief glance upward, looking between Rachel and Jesse before settling his eyes on Rachel again. "It's nothing. Just, ah- overslept a bit, feeling older, all of that."  
  
"But you're twenty one!" Rachel declares, and her tone is so enthusiastic and infectious that Hunter wishes he could hate her.  
  
(But, of course, he can't.)  
  
"I guess it...hasn't really sunk in yet," he replies slowly, and notices out of the corner of his eye as Jesse throws his arms outwards and grins, the concern washing away from his features in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Hasn't sunk in? Dude, you're officially of legal drinking age, _and_ the name of your eternal love is on your wrist," he exclaims. "You should be over the moon!"  
  
Hunter's stomach drops to his feet.  
  
"Who is it?" Rachel pipes in excitedly, her face lighting up as she grabs onto his arm. Hunter jerks his arm away reflexively, his hand wrenching out of her grip, and Rachel's face drops. He promptly feels like an asshole, but the panic is thick enough to prevent him from apologizing as he shuffles back a step and furiously avoids looking at both of them.  
  
"Hunt?" Jesse calls out, and it's like Hunter is abruptly moving through molasses, everything processing slowly and hazily, as if he is experiencing the moment through a blurred eyeglass. Jesse is steadily advancing on him, reaching out to touch his shoulder as he repeatedly calls out Hunter's name, and Hunter tries to keep moving backwards, but he isn't _fast enough_. It's like his limbs are stuck, the effort to move _away_ from Jesse so excruciating that Hunter wants to give up right then and there. Eventually, Jesse is right in front of him, Rachel at his side with the most genuine expression of concern on her face, and as she touches Jesse's elbow gently in an act of question, Hunter sinks to his knees.  
  
"Hunter!"  
  
He hears them both call out his name, frantic and hurried, but he ignores them and curls in on himself, his thoughts all but shutting down. _They can't know. They can't know,_ his brain screams, and it's all he hears, all he's aware of, as Jesse grasps at his shoulders and Rachel watches on fearfully from his side. Hunter keeps flinching as their hands prod at him, holds his wrist protectively against his chest, and manages to choke out a pained "no." Jesse instantly releases him, and it's like Hunter is able to claw his way out from the hole he's sunk into, just long enough to register his friend's anxious question.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong?"  
  
"Can't...you can't..." Hunter croaks, locking his hands together and tucking them in closer to himself.   
  
Rachel releases a nervous whimper, her fingers moving back to their spot at Jesse's elbow. "Jesse, what's going on?"  
  
"I don't know," Jesse breathes, and Hunter clenches his eyes shut, just so he doesn't have to see them interacting.   
  
His stomach twists.  
  
"Hunter, tell us what's going on," Rachel begs. "We're your friends. Please."  
  
"You'll hate me," he whispers, cracking his eyes back open.  
  
Rachel's gaze is gentle, pleading, but it is Jesse's expression that truly stops him. His friend's mouth is twisted into a small frown, a wrinkle forming between his brows as if he is desperate to know what is going on, but won't show it. His blue eyes are full of warmth and care, and Hunter curls his fingers against his palms in order not to reach out and sink into the familiarity. It's the most painful thing he has yet to experience, this insistence to be close to someone, and Hunter has to suck in a deep breath just to calm himself enough to look away.  
  
"We'd never hate you, Hunt," Jesse says lowly. "You're scaring us. What's happened?"  
  
"I'm sorry. So sorry, Jesse," Hunter mumbles.  
  
"Why are you sorry?" his friend asks. Rachel glances back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide with confusion, and Hunter finally looks back at her, his fingers cautiously uncurling from against his chest.  
  
"It's not my fault, Rach," he chokes out. "Don't hate me. Please don't hate me."  
  
"What's not your fault? Hunter-" Rachel begins, but her mouth snaps shut when Hunter's hand drops limply into her lap, the sleeve of his shirt hanging loosely over his fingers. He swallows thickly, a heavy weight settling over his chest as he motions towards his wrist with his spare hand, too afraid to push the fabric away himself.  
  
"I'm sorry," he breathes, one last time before Rachel hesitantly latches onto his sleeve and pushes it up to his elbow. Her breath catches audibly, and Hunter can't watch, he _can't_. His heartbeat is a deafening thrum in his ears, a weak tremble starting in his fingertips and working its way up through his arms. Rachel's harsh breathing suddenly morphs into the quietest hitch every few seconds, and Hunter realizes with a startling ache that she is crying.   
  
Rachel is crying, and Jesse still hasn't said anything.  
  
The shaking in his limbs increases tenfold, until Hunter is nothing but an inconsolable mess in the middle of his apartment living room. Rachel's sobs grow louder, and Hunter wishes he could just disappear, sink into the floor so that neither of his friends have to deal with him any longer.  
  
His eyes squeeze shut again, and then his hand is slipping from Rachel's lap as she bolts up to her feet and darts out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her. The guilt is crushing; it eats away at every inch of Hunter's being, and he waits for the inevitable sound of Jesse's footsteps as he follows Rachel out, but it never comes.  
  
He forces his eyes open.  
  
Jesse's gaze is glued to Hunter's wrist. His face is completely blank, the emotions unreadable, and that scares Hunter more than anything. He'd rather have screaming, or crying, or... _something_. Not this...vacancy.  
  
The silence between them is suffocating. Hunter's chest rattles with every breath, and he keeps his eyes on Jesse, the apprehension growing more prominent in his stomach with each second of quiet that passes.  
  
It seems like forever before Jesse finally opens his mouth, and when he does, his voice is utterly defeated. "I- Hunter, I don't know what to say."  
  
_Hunter_. Not Hunt.   
  
Hunter's throat burns painfully as he forces out his next few words.   
  
"Do you- do you want me to..."  
  
_Leave you alone_ , he wants to finish, but the words gets suck, won't exit his mouth. Jesse seems to catch on, however, and his neutral expression is suddenly overcome with a sort of stubbornness that only Jesse St. James can achieve, a vehement look filling his eyes.  
  
" _No,"_ he states. Then, seeming to backtrack, he grapples with his next words. "I mean- unless you can't- if it's too...hard," Jesse mumbles, then winces.  
  
"You're my best friend, Jesse," is Hunter's weak response.  
  
The tension loosens in Jesse's shoulders somewhat at that. He glances over his shoulder towards the door, then looks back at Hunter, and the apology on his features almost hurts more than the burn of Jesse's name against his skin.  
  
"I'll talk to her," he says softly. "We'll- we're gonna figure this out, okay?"  
  
Hunter tugs his sleeve back down his arm and smiles bitterly, unable to keep the resignation away from his features. He simply nods his head and looks down, mumbling, "sure."  
  
Meanwhile, he pointedly ignores the fact that Jesse's words do nothing to make him feel any better.


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, Hunter."  
  
Tipping his head in a small nod in response, Hunter allows the door to fall shut behind him. He flips the sign in the window to _yes, we're open_ before moving deeper into the shop, unslinging his messenger bag haphazardly from his shoulder.  
  
"Quinn," he greets cordially, and the girl smiles up at him from her spot by the wall where she is patiently shelving mystery books. Hunter dumps his bag behind the counter and then unlocks the register to check that they have enough change for the day, and a few minutes later Quinn ambles her way over to lean against the side of the counter.  
  
"I'm gonna have to head out early today. They stuck me on the afternoon shift," she explains.  
  
Hunter refrains from rolling his eyes, because even if Quinn is his only employee, he knows that the meager paycheck he hands her each month is hardly enough to keep living off of. He's just grateful that she's stuck around this long, though Hunter thinks that's it's out of some strange friendship obligation more than anything. With a shrug, he responds, "I get it, Quinn. It's fine."  
  
He purposefully ignores her imploring look, and instead busies himself with unraveling a roll of quarters into the register. After a moment, Quinn asks, "you okay?"  
  
"Peachy," comes Hunter's clipped reply. He slams the register shut with a loud _clank_ and then releases a long sigh, his elbows coming to rest on the counter as he buries his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be-"  
  
"It's fine," Quinn interrupts softly. "Believe me, I know how it can be sometimes."  
  
And Hunter knows firsthand just how much Quinn really does understand.

They'd met a few months after Hunter's graduation three years ago, when he'd stumbled his way into the cafe that Quinn worked at. It had been a painfully long day of job-hunting, his business degree from Columbia a useless piece of paper on his wall. It turned out that most employers preferred to hire people who were...mated, simply on the grounds that they had the proper "life experience" to handle the job requirements. It didn't matter the company- every corporate or accounting opening Hunter came across had turned him down, and he'd been at his wits end by the time he entered the coffee shop, a slow ache starting to form behind his eyes.  
  
He was just so _sick_ of it, the constant feeling of inadequacy that trailed along after him like a ball and chain. Two years, two long, long years of grappling along, ignoring the devastating pain of watching his soulmate love someone else. Jesse and Rachel had slowly come to terms with the situation- it had taken a few months for Rachel, but eventually, they had accepted the name on Hunter's wrist and chosen to do the most logical thing: pretend it didn't exist. Hunter was just grateful that he hadn't lost his friends in the process, though he doesn't know if a lifetime of pining away after Jesse would be any better in person instead of miles and miles away.  
  
Quinn had seemed to notice his pain the instant he walked into the shop that first day, recognizing the resigned look in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders all too well. She passed him a warm mug and declared that it was "on the house," and then proceeded to sit with him by the window and work his story out of him.  
  
Hunter hadn't known why he was so willing to open up to a complete stranger. There was just something about Quinn, in her understanding smile and the delicate way she held herself, that screamed _trustworthy_ to him. And sure enough, as soon as he had finished spilling his guts, Quinn had returned the favor. She gently moved her sleeve up her arm and flashed him the name on her wrist, the looping four letters of the name _Finn_ spiraling along her creamy skin.  
  
"What happened?" Hunter had asked, and Quinn's smile at his question had been one of the saddest things Hunter had ever seen.  
  
"He died in combat in Iraq. About a year after we mated," she said softly.  
  
Hunter's breath hitched, and he immediately reached out, latching onto her hand in an act of comfort. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.  
  
And he _was_ \- god, and this entire time, he'd thought _he_ had it bad. At least Jesse was alive and breathing, there for Hunter to crawl along after every day. He couldn't even fathom the thought of losing him. Just the idea had Hunter's chest seizing up, a cold sweat breaking out along the back of his neck. It was like imagining having half of his being suddenly ripped out of him, leaving a gaping hole in his wake.  
  
He suddenly admired Quinn. For her strength, her perseverance. Surely he wouldn't be able to remain so brave in the face of such a tragedy.  
  
"It's been a long time," Quinn had murmured, glancing down at her lap. "But the pain- it never really fades, you know? You just learn how to deal with it."  
  
They exchanged phone numbers that day, and Quinn quickly became one of his closest friends outside of Rachel and Jesse. The relationship the two of them had was far different from Hunter's others, though, due to the fact that he and Quinn were sort of...kindred spirits, in a way. She was only two years older than him, but she seemed wise beyond her years, and Hunter quickly grew to respect her, more so than anyone else. Quinn had been the one to suggest he open his own business instead of searching endlessly for a decent job (since she'd attempted the same thing for years since Finn's death, to no avail). When Hunter had finally opened the book shop, Quinn had been the one there to witness it, and she was the one he'd asked to work part-time for him when he needed help stocking, to which she'd easily agreed.  
  
Now, at twenty-five, Hunter is managing. He pays much of his thanks to Quinn, because before she'd come along, things had been getting...messy. He'd been doing his best to cope, trying to keep his emotions to himself and forcing himself to suffer through day after day of seeing Jesse happily in love with Rachel, but for awhile, Hunter had lost it.  
  
They don't talk about that.  
  
Today is no different from any other day, except for the one, small phone call he'd received upon waking up in the morning.  
  
"'Lo?" Hunter had mumbled.  
  
"Hunter!" Rachel had shrieked, effectively startling his sleep-addled brain into full alert. He nearly dropped his half full coffee cup at the enthusiasm in her voice, and let out a half-stifled groan in response before rubbing at his stubbled jaw with his free hand.  
  
"Rach? What's going on?" he asked.  
  
"Hunter!" Rachel repeated, the excitement evident in her voice. "We're getting married!"  
  
The ceramic mug slid from Hunter's fingers and shattered against the hardwood floor.  
  
It wasn't strange for bonded couples to wait before "tying the knot," so to speak. There was generally a necessary getting-to-know-each-other period, and most people preferred to treat the bonds as actual relationships, ones that required time and care before any major decisions.  
  
After a few years, Hunter had just stopped thinking about the possibility of Jesse proposing to Rachel. They'd been together for so long without the mention of marriage that the concept had eventually floated from Hunter's mind (either that, or he'd just successfully repressed it- he hopes that wasn't the case). It shouldn't be such a surprise, then, to be on the receiving end of Rachel's phone call that morning. Hunter should have been expecting this. It was bound to happen someday, and it was a miracle that so many years have managed to pass without it.  
  
That still didn’t eliminate the fierce burning sensation in Hunter's chest, though.

*

"Is it supposed to feel like I'm dying?" Hunter murmurs. "Is there supposed to be this- this _hole_ inside of me? I feel like I'm about to just dissolve into a million pieces, and I- I _can't_ , Quinn. I'm so tired."  
  
He feels horribly guilty to be complaining about this- at least he still has a soulmate to complain _about_ , whereas Quinn has been left to a lifetime of pure emptiness. Hunter is an asshole, and he knows it. He's just too upset to care right now.  
  
Quinn doesn't say anything. She doesn't try to tell him that things will get better, because they won't. She doesn't feed him any lies about the future, and Hunter is extremely grateful. This is why he loves Quinn- she's honest. But it's welcome because she has the _right_ to be. She's been through everything Hunter is dealing with and then some, and still manages to be this compassionate, patient woman.   
  
Hunter doesn't know how she does it.  
  
Eventually, Quinn extends her hand and grasps gently at Hunter's wrist, giving it a single squeeze of reassurance. Hunter releases a shaky exhale and purses his lips, attempting to force the negative thoughts from his mind. He can do this. He can watch his best friend get married, and he can be happy for him, because isn't that what you do for the ones you love? You sacrifice your own happiness in favor of theirs?  
  
Jesse's grinning face appears in Hunter's mind, and the ache in his chest spreads outwards so steadily that he isn't too sure.

*

The wedding is scheduled for seven months from now, a few weeks before Christmas. Of course Rachel would want a winter wedding- the snow, the lights, the atmosphere, it all just screams _Rachel Berry,_ and Jesse’s agreement is no surprise at all, either.

Seven months, but Hunter feels as if it is tomorrow. Jesse’s never been his, and never _will_ be, he knows this. But it still feels like this is the final step, the last tug until Jesse has slipped from his fingers forever.

It kills him.

Jesse tells him that he should call Nick and Jeff, invite them to the wedding, so Hunter does. He only sees his friends about once a year, now, thanks to the miles between New York and Chicago, but he still likes to think that they’re close. Nick and Jeff had, of course, found each other’s names on their wrists four years ago- best friends since birth, the connection between them has always been undeniable, and Hunter is happy for them. He really is. He’s decided that he is absolutely _not_ going to let his own feelings ruin this wedding, that he’s going to smile and stand dutifully at Jesse’s side as his best man, and isn’t going to allow his despair to seep out and affect the day for the people around him.

But Hunter isn’t fooling anyone. As the weeks pass, and the wedding preparation take up the majority of Jesse and Rachel’s time, he can feel himself slipping. Quinn notices first, of course, and sits him down on a particularly slow day in the book shop, encouraging him to vent. Hunter wrings his hands together in his lap and just shakes his head, chokes out a low, _I’m happy for them,_ and keeps the emotions buried in the furthest recesses of his being.

It isn’t healthy, and he knows it, but he doesn’t know what else to _do_. He’s not going to abandon Jesse now, after years of friendship. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, because his soul is irrevocably tied to the other man’s, and there’s no escaping it. Hunter merely pastes a grin on his face and spirals down, down, back towards a place that he never thought he’d have to return to again.

Jesse _finally_ notices, about two months before the wedding. They are out at the final fitting for their tuxedos, while Rachel is off dealing with flowers and cakes and guest lists, and Hunter’s arms tremble violently as he slips them into the black jacket. He emerges from the dressing room, and Jesse is already outside, examining himself in a mirror as he spins from side to side.

Hunter ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest and inhales a deep breath.

The sound is audible, and Jesse whirls around, a grin breaking out across his face. He is oblivious to Hunter’s inner turmoil, as always ( _or pretends to be,_ Hunter’s mind whispers) and steps forward to examine Hunter more closely, his head inclining in acknowledgement.

“Looking good, Clarington,” he comments, and the casual way in which the compliment is presented feels like a punch to the gut.

Hunter somehow manages a shaky smile, saying, “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

And then Jesse is moving closer, his hands rising to smooth a wrinkle in the vicinity of Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter is quaking so violently that there’s no way his friend can miss it.

Sure enough, Jesse halts mid-gesture, and his hand drops robotically back to his side. “...Hunt?” he inquires carefully.

Hunter turns away, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he attempts to get a hold of himself.  “I’m fine,” he croaks out.

But he is so _not_ fine, hasn’t been since Rachel’s call back in May. He and Jesse haven’t spoken of Hunter’s breakdown a few months after his twenty-first birthday, but his condition since the engagement announcement has been so eerily similar that even Quinn has questioned him about it. Hunter keeps insisting that he’s coping, that it’s just taking some time to adjust, and leaves it at that.

Now, as Jesse mutters his name brokenly, Hunter can feel himself taking that final step over the edge, the last of his sanity leaving him as he falls completely, any sense of level ground gone far, far behind him.

He can’t do it anymore.

“I-I’m sorry, Jesse,” he rushes out, and his eyes clench shut. “I can’t. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

Hunter doesn’t even bother to disappear back into the dressing room and change out of his tux. Instead, he merely bolts out of the shop, the door clanging shut violently as the bell chimes to mark his exit.

*

The pounding on his door comes a few hours later.

“Open the fucking door, Hunt!” Jesse demands. His fist is an incessant pressure against the wood, and Hunter shuts his eyes from where he is sprawled pathetically across his couch in an attempt to block out the noise.

Jesse is nothing if not stubborn.

“I will break into your fucking apartment. We need to talk about this,” Jesse calls out again, and Hunter can’t help it, a bitter laugh escaping his throat.

“Oh, so _now_ you want to talk?” Hunter yells, rolling off the couch and stalking over to the door. He throws it open angrily, and the sight of Jesse automatically sends a roll of warmth through him, like it always does. However, he ignores the sensation in favor of moving into his friend’s personal space, his chest heaving with the force of his next words.

“It’s been four years, Jesse!” he shouts. “Four years of me pretending like seeing you with Rachel doesn’t _kill_ me on the inside. I’ve forced down everything I’ve felt because that’s what _you_ wanted, because every fucking part of my being orders me to do what makes _you_ happy. And I’m exhausted. Every day I have to fight this...this inexplicable urge to just throw myself at you and _beg,_ because I know that the feeling isn’t reciprocated. I have to sit here and watch you marry someone else, and I don’t think you realize how much it _fucking_ sucks.”

The minute his rant is over, all of the fight suddenly leaks from his body. It’s like he’s been keeping the anger inside for so long that now that it’s gone, his body doesn’t know what to do. His shoulders slump and he hangs his head, shuffling back a step and leaving Jesse standing in the doorway, his mouth dropped open in shock.

“I-I’m sorry,” Hunter blurts on autopilot, spinning around and hurrying back into the apartment. “It’s not even your fault, you didn’t deserve that.”

The sound of Jesse’s footsteps follows him, the door clicking shut quietly behind them before Hunter feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. It sends a zing of warmth through his limbs, and he has to swallow back the pleading whimper that threatens to leave him as he turns back around and meets Jesse’s gaze. His friend’s eyes are wet, desperate, and Hunter’s heart fractures all over again, leaving him cracked and splayed open for the entire world to see.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Jesse says finally, and it’s not at all what Hunter is expecting to hear.

“W-what?” he gasps out.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse repeats forcefully. “You’re right. I’ve been an asshole. I spent four years completely ignoring the fact that you woke up with that stupid tattoo on your wrist, and that’s not okay. You’re my best friend, Hunt. I owe you more than that.”

Jesse’s apology has Hunter’s mind spinning. Of all the things his friend could be saying right now, this is the very last thing Hunter had considered. Jesse St. James doesn’t apologize, because he is never in the wrong. Throughout the eight years of their friendship, Hunter has known this; and to have the word _sorry_ fall from Jesse’s lips, in response to _him,_ of all people, is completely mind boggling.

He distantly realizes that he’s been staring at Jesse for an uncomfortably long moment, and looks away. What is he supposed to say to that? He appreciates the apology- of course he does- but it doesn’t fix anything. Not really.

“Look, Hunt,” Jesse is speaking again, and Hunter lifts his head hesitantly. “I know it’s hard for you, okay? I mean, I may not know how it actually feels, but it’s gotta be horrible. And I don’t want you to suffer- of course I don’t- but I just...I really want you to be at this wedding, man.”

Hunter exhales slowly. Can he be selfish? Can he, just this once, spare himself the pain and the heartache, and say ‘no’ to Jesse? Doesn’t he at least deserve that much?

The answer, of course, is obvious. The bottom line is that Hunter _needs_ to be there for Jesse, no matter how much it costs him.

He can’t stay away.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Jesse’s eyes widen, and he reaches out as if to grab onto Hunter’s arm, but pauses halfway. “Are- are you sure?”

 _No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything,_ Hunter wants to scream, and his stomach is so tangled up in knots that he’s hardly aware of anything else.

So instead what he says, as if it explains everything, is, “you’re my best friend, Jesse.”

(Although he isn’t quite sure how much those words mean anymore.)


	3. Chapter 3

Months turns into weeks turns into days until the wedding, and Nick and Jeff fly into town shortly after December first. Hunter is incredibly grateful for the distraction- as the day itself grows infinitely closer, his heart is slowly shriveling up inside of his chest, and he can't tell up from down anymore, doesn't know what to do with himself.  
  
Nick and Jeff end up staying in his guest room. The company is...nice. In all honesty, Hunter is just tired of feeling alone, and the constant chatter of his friends does manage to lift his spirits somewhat.  
  
The morning before Jesse's bachelor party, Nick drops down next to Hunter on the couch in the middle of a _Mythbusters_ episode and says, "we need to talk, dude."  
  
"Talk about what?" Hunter asks carefully, hitting the button to turn down the volume before shooting a glance over at Nick. His friend's hair is still ruffled from sleep, but his eyes are alert, expression utterly serious, and Hunter's guard immediately rises. He doesn't _want_ to talk about it- in fact, there's nothing to talk _about_. He is fine. Completely fine, minus a few small slip ups, and he doesn't need another person in his life to try and get him to admit otherwise.  
  
Nick's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "You know what. Don't be like this, okay? You're not fooling anyone."  
  
"Have you ever considered that maybe I just don't wanna talk about it?" Hunter grits out through a clenched jaw, and Nick scoffs, his head shaking disbelief.  
  
"It's eating you alive, Hunter. The last time I saw you like this-"  
  
" _Don't_ ," he warns, and his voice is stoic. _They_ _don't talk about that._    
  
Nick's lips press into a thin line, but he obliges, his hands rubbing nervously across his thighs. "I'm just worried about you."  
  
"Yeah, well, join the fucking club," Hunter hisses. "I'm sick of everyone pitying me. None of you understand. You have no idea what I'm going through, and I know you think your heart is in the right place, but I don't want your sympathy. I just want to be able to forget that any of this is happening, that this is my life, and I _can't_ because everyone keeps reminding me!"  
  
He rests his elbows on his knees and lowers his head into his hands, running his fingers anxiously down the back of his neck. Nick's gaze is an unrelenting pressure on his back, but Hunter does his best to keep his eyes down and attempts to steady is breathing, the slow _in-out_ of the air into his lungs loosening the knots in his chest somewhat.  
  
"Okay," Nick mutters finally, and Hunter turns his head to eye his friend warily. "You don't want to talk about, so we won't. I'm sorry for bringing it up."  
  
"Thank you," Hunter says softly. Nick nods his head in acknowledgement, then pushes back up to his feet just as the sound of Jeff padding out from the bedroom can be heard. He greets the blonde with a tiny smile and a kiss to his temple, and Hunter has to look away as the sight causes his stomach to twist.  
  
Why can't he have that?

*

Hunter is drunk.

No, scratch that- he's fucking _hammered._  
  
Everything Jeff says seems to crack him up, and he can't stop _laughing_ , his cheeks flushed red and his pupils dilated. The steady thrum of the music pulses around them, and Hunter has to lean heavily against Nick's side from his own stool just to keep himself upright.  
  
They've been club hopping for nearly four hours now, dragging Jesse from bar to bar without pause in order to celebrate his last night as an unmarried man. It seems a bit ridiculous to have a bachelor party at all, considering that even without marriage, Jesse's been taken since the age of twenty-one  just like everyone else, but Hunter has the sneaking suspicion that Nick and Jeff are just looking for an easy excuse to collect blackmail material.  
  
Their current haunt is a standard nightclub, packed full of writhing bodies as the bass pounds in the background. Their group appears to be one of the oldest there, the rest of the faces much younger and their wrists free of any signs of black ink. Hunter's never understood the dynamic of clubs like these, which serve to please only the unmated, despite the majority of them still being below the drinking age. He's never been one to frequent them himself, although he's heard plenty of stories about the non-bonded meeting up to spend just a night or two under the ruse of not feeling so alone.  
  
Only now, with an indistinguishable amount of alcohol flowing through his system, does he finally see the appeal.  
  
He abandons the group at the bar and maneuvers his way out onto the dance floor, where multiple sets of anonymous hands are grasping at him within seconds. It is easy to lose himself to the music, to shut his eyes and ignore the presence of Jesse on the opposite side of the room in favor of swaying his hips and falling back into whatever warm body is pressed up behind him.   
  
Hunter isn't sure how long he remains like that, traveling from partner to partner as the mixture of music and alcohol clouds any other thoughts he may have. His problems seem so far away, now, the issues of _soulmate_ and _Jesse_ and _wedding_ nothing but hazy memories flitting around in the back of his mind. His skin tingles every time it brushes against a strange body, and the eager touch of hands to his own waist is freeing, a sensation that is both comforting yet liberating at the same time.  
  
_Physical contact._ It is trivial, almost a crude mockery of what he is supposed to have, but he hadn't realized just how badly he was craving it until now.  
  
The light ghost of a mouth across his neck finally has his eyes fluttering open, and Hunter glances lazily over his shoulder at his current dance partner to be met with a pair of heated eyes. The man's lips curl up into the hint of a smirk, and he has to lean in close to be heard over the music, his lips just touching the shell of Hunter's ear.  
  
"What's your name?" he asks, and the gruff tone of his voice sends shivers down Hunter's spine. He's never felt like this before- never thought he'd be able to, not with thoughts of Jesse constantly lurking at the back of his mind.  
  
But the energy slithering through his veins is strong enough to have Hunter's body saying, _fuck Jesse_ (even if the rest of his being doesn't seem to agree).  
  
"Hunter," he calls out, and the man behind him tugs none-too-gently at Hunter's hips until he has turned fully around, their faces a hair's breadth apart. Hunter's breath hitches in his chest, and his eyes are suddenly caught by the unadulterated _lust_ that radiates from the stranger's eyes, the way his gaze seems to unfold Hunter from the outside in.  
  
"I'm Eli," the man finally responds, and then his fingertips are slipping beneath the hem of Hunter's button down, leaving a hot trail along his abdomen and causing him to shudder once more. Eli's mouth tips upwards again, and he murmurs, "can I tell you something, Hunter?"  
  
Hunter nods stiltedly, his hands curling loosely in the fabric of Eli's shirt near his shoulders. Every part of his body feels too hot, over-stimulated and jittery from the teasing touches and promising glances. The hint of black ink is evident on Eli's wrist, but Hunter keeps his eyes away from it, steadies his gaze on the man's mouth instead, which is now moving to form words.  
  
"I..." Eli begins, ducking his head slightly and peering straight into Hunter's eyes, "...am dying to kiss you right now."  
  
The heat pools thickly in Hunter's gut, and he doesn't know if it is the alcohol or simply the exhilaration of the moment that leads him to reply, "then do it."  
  
Eli's eyes seem to darken even more, if at all possible, and then their mouths are meeting in something hard and desperate. Hunter's only kissed a few people, mostly nameless faces during stupid spin-the-bottle or seven-minutes-in-heaven games back in high school, but it was never like _this_. Eli's lips are warm and unyielding against his own, sliding against Hunter's with a practiced sort of skill that could only come from plenty of experience, and Hunter sinks into it, his mouth opening and granting Eli's tongue access as it slips inside.  
  
He feels...invincible. The pleasure is so consuming that Hunter's brain all but shuts down, and he hardly notices as Eli latches onto his waist and pulls him through the swaying mass of bodies towards the back of the club. He pays no attention to their surroundings, only blinking his eyes open when his back hits the inside of the bathroom stall door, but his awareness strays again as soon as Eli's mouth attaches itself to his neck, and Hunter curls his fingers in the hair at the man's nape, a quiet groan leaving his lips. He is floating through a lust-coated haze, his brain caught on a repeated loop of _yes, yes_ , as Eli's teeth worry at the smooth skin of his throat.  
  
And then a hand is fumbling with his belt buckle, and the moment comes crashing down around him.  
  
He can't tell what exactly triggers it. Perhaps it is the hint of something more, or the way Eli's mouth nips particularly hard at Hunter's skin in that millisecond. Either way, Hunter finds his eyes snapping open, his entire body sobering in what feels like a single instant. The pleasure loop in his brain has cut off, and now his entire body is screaming, _no, bad, not Jesse_ , and Hunter feels like he's going to be sick.  
  
He shoves forcefully at Eli's chest in an effort to detach himself, ignoring the stunned look on the man's face as he scrambles for the lock on the stall door and pushes his way out of it, his legs shaking. "I can't do this," Hunter chokes out, paying little mind to Eli as he exits the stall and nearly bolts for the door. Eli's frustrated _what the fuck?!_ echoes after him, but it hardly penetrates, as the guilt clouds Hunter's mind and chases him all the way out the back door of the club and into the frigid night air, where he proceeds to fall to his knees and vomit across the snow-covered cement.  
  
"Shit," Hunter croaks a moment later, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His high has completely dissipated, and has now left him even emptier than before, the inkling in his mind that usually whispers _Jesse_ in a hushed voice louder and more prominent than usual. Hunter swallows thickly as the bile threatens to climb back up his throat, and pulls his knees up to his chest, his forehead settling against the now-soaked fabric of his jeans.  
  
He can't even go out and have fun without this irreconcilable thing that ties him to Jesse holding him back. Hunter wants to punch something, wants to shove his fingers into the snow banks against the side of the building and feel them freeze one by one. Any kind of pain would be better than _this_.  
  
"Why me?!" he screams suddenly, climbing up from his knees and throwing his arms outwards as he stumbles around in an unsteady circle. "What the fuck did I do, huh? Did I somehow manage to piss you off and cause you to do this to me? Because it's _not fucking fair_! Why won't you just let me be _normal_?"  
  
He yells so loudly that his voice cracks on his last few words, and belatedly, Hunter realizes that he is crying. The moisture slips down his cheeks, and he can taste the salt on his tongue, recognizes the bitterness of his own teardrops. An agonized groan escapes his throat, and he kicks roughly at the ground with his foot, sending a cloud of snow scattering out in front of him.  
  
All he wants to do is give up, right then and there. He wants to cry out to whatever powers-that-be and ask them to just _end it,_ to make the pain and the longing and the heartbreak stop.  
  
He's tired. He wants it to be _over._  
  
Nick finds him there an hour later, with his head pressed to the brick wall of the club and his eyes clenched shut. Without a word, he places a hand onto Hunter's shoulder and leads him back around to the front of the building where their car is waiting. Most of the guys are so drunk that they'd hardly even caught onto his absence, and they greet him with enthusiastic shouts and rambunctious laughter. Hunter attempts to smile back, but his heart just isn't in it, and he opts out of the next club in favor of hailing his own taxi to take him back to his apartment.  
  
It only stings a little when Jesse fails to notice his departure.

*

Hunter takes Quinn as his date to the wedding.  
  
She looks beautiful in her pastel-colored dress, with her blonde hair falling in soft waves across her shoulders, and Hunter tells her as much. She laughs quietly, thanks him and tells him that he looks quite ravishing in his tux as well, and then leaves him with the rest of the wedding party to find her own seat in the crowd.  
  
Hunter sucks in a deep breath. It's only a few hours. He can stand at Jesse's side for the ceremony, watch him slip a ring onto Rachel's finger as they exchange vows of _always_ and _forever_. He can handle this. _It's only a few hours._  
  
Fuck, he can't do this.  
  
Hunter stands at the front of the church at the head of the groom's party, with Nick and Jeff and a few other friends of Jesse's from his NYADA days lined up beside him. Jesse himself has his shoulders pulled back and his eyes focused on the doors at the end of the aisle, where Rachel is due to appear any moment. He looks stunning, as always; his brown hair is artfully gelled, and his suit has been tailored to perfection, accenting the width of his shoulders and his slim waist. Hunter can't tear his eyes away, his stomach tumbling around dangerously, and he forces himself to _breathe_ , his eyes shutting for a brief moment as he tries to reel in his emotions.  
  
The music begins.  
  
Hunter does his best to tune out the entire ceremony. He keeps his gaze on some indeterminable spot behind Jesse's head, and only moves again when Jesse and Rachel are waltzing back down the aisle with their arms linked as the rest of the church bursts into applause. There is a twinge in Hunter's chest that he steadfastly forces down, but it continues to grow in intensity the rest of the night. Quinn keeps him somewhat occupied, trying to make conversation and even pulling him out onto the dance floor for a few songs, but eventually, Hunter retreats to his seat in the corner of the room and merely watches the reception from afar, his arms folded tightly across his chest.  
  
"I can see that the real party is over here," an unfamiliar voice suddenly says, and Hunter tears his eyes away from where Jesse is spinning Rachel around in the center of the room to look up at the new arrival. It is a young man, probably around his own age, who has his brown hair slightly spiked and is dressed in a rather interesting coat-on-skinny-pant ensemble. Hunter eyes the man cautiously, one of his eyebrows lifting in silent question, and the man smiles wryly before extending a hand.  
  
"Kurt Hummel," he announces. "I'm an old friend of Rachel's."  
  
Hunter slides his hand into Kurt's hesitantly before straightening up in his seat and answering, "Hunter Clarington. It's a pleasure."  
  
If Kurt catches onto the dry tone of Hunter's voice, he doesn't point it out. Instead, he pulls out the empty chair at Hunter's side and drops down into it before following Hunter's gaze back out to the dance floor, his head tilting thoughtfully. "You could go out there, you know. The ability to dance _well_ isn't exactly required."  
  
Hunter ignores the comment and picks up his champagne glass from the table next to him, his eyes settling on the amber liquid inside of it. He doesn't know why this Kurt Hummel is attempting to make conversation with him, and he'd much rather be left to wallow in his own misery in peace. Unfortunately, the man can't quite seem to take a hint.  
  
"It was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?" Kurt says idly, and Hunter resists the urge to flinch. "Very...Rachel. She's always been the type to prefer big and bold, if you know what I mean."  
  
Hunter hums noncommittally, and Kurt finally looks back at him, lifting a perfectly-manicured brow.  
  
"You're not one for conversation, are you?" he inquires.  
  
"Not in the mood," Hunter grunts.  
  
Kurt rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply, but his mouth falls shut again when a warm hand falls onto his shoulder. Hunter moves his eyes to the man now standing behind Kurt's chair, taking in the fond smile on his lips and the way his fingers seem to curl almost possessively against the side of Kurt's neck, and his stomach lurches threateningly.  
  
_Of course._  
  
"Oh, there you are!" Kurt blurts, reaching up to cover the new man's hand with his own before turning back to Hunter with an obvious smile. "Hunter, this is my partner, Blaine."  
  
The man standing behind Kurt- _Blaine_ \- shoots Hunter a blinding grin, and Hunter struggles not to scowl in response. "Hi! You're Jesse's friend, aren't you? I think I saw you with the wedding party."  
  
Hunter's fingers tighten around the stem of his champagne glass, and he blows out a slow exhale. "Yeah. I'm his best man."  
  
"Well, it's great to meet you," Blaine exclaims. "I don't know Rachel or Jesse that well, but Kurt's known Rachel since high school, so here I am."  
  
A half-hearted nod is all Hunter has to offer at that. He really couldn't care less what Blaine _or_ Kurt are doing here- he just wants to leave, doesn't know how much longer he can handle being surrounded by so many happily bonded couples, including his own supposed _soulmate._  
  
Hunter has the sudden urge to gag.  
  
"Listen," Kurt says after awhile, and he leans forward slightly in his chair in an attempt to catch Hunter's eye. "I know I'm probably the last person you want meddling in your life right now, seeing as we just met, and it's obvious that I've been nothing but a nuisance to you since I sat down. But I want you to have this."  
  
He passes Hunter a small, rectangular business card with the name _Kurt Hummel & Associates_ printed across it in tiny block letters, followed by a phone number. Hunter blinks down at the slip of paper in shock, taken aback by the sudden forwardness. He's barely spoken more than a handful of words to the other man, and here he is, offering Hunter a way to contact him?  
  
He carefully pockets the business card, then peers up at Kurt and Blaine, who are staring back at him in an unnerving fashion. Clearing his throat, Hunter says, "I would thank you, but I didn't exactly ask for this."  
  
"Just keep it," Kurt encourages as he moves up to his feet, his fingers reaching out and hooking in Blaine's. "And if you ever feel like it, call. I’ve been told I make a pretty good listener."  
  
“You don’t-“ Hunter begins, then stops, his jaw shutting once he realizes that arguing would be futile. Kurt is obviously determined to play the good guy in this situation, and Hunter merely lets him, not bothering to voice the fact that if he wanted to talk, he would have done it a long time ago.  
  
"Have a nice evening, Hunter," Blaine adds, and then Kurt is pulling him back out into the crowd, leaving Hunter with a half-empty glass in his hand and a small piece of paper weighing down the inside of his pocket.

*

Quinn tracks him down awhile later, her cheeks flushed and her brow sporting a light sheen of sweat as she emerges from the dance floor with Nick and Jeff on her heels. Her smile dims slightly when she finds Hunter, however, and she shoos Nick and Jeff back into the crowd before quietly approaching him, her fingers reaching out to cup his cheek gently.  
  
"Hunter?" she questions, and eventually he looks up at her, his mouth set and his jaw clenched.  
  
"I think I'm gonna go," he mutters. Quinn shoots a glance over her shoulder, watches as the DJ announces the preparations for the bride and groom's first dance, and immediately seems to catch on. She turns back to Hunter with an understanding glint in her eyes, and her palm drops to rest on his shoulder.   
  
"I'm coming with you," she responds decisively, and Hunter doesn't even attempt to argue. He allows Quinn to tangle her fingers between his own and lead the way out of the reception, where they quickly track down a taxi and head back to Hunter's apartment. Only once they are inside the cab does Hunter finally let his mask slip, and he slumps back into the leather interior of the vehicle, the efforts of the past few hours to keep his composure leaving him utterly depleted. Quinn's hand is a solid fixture in his own, but he hardly recognizes her presence, only conscious of when she helps him up the stairs and into his apartment, where she sends him back to his bedroom and forces him out of his jacket.  
  
"Thanks, Quinn," he mumbles a few minutes later. Quinn pauses in the middle of undoing his bow tie and gives him a sad smile, her gentle fingers brushing soothingly against his jaw.  
  
"Don't worry about it, okay?" she murmurs. He nods weakly, finally managing to slip out of his dress shoes and untuck his shirt from his slacks before crawling on top of his bed and pressing the side of his face into his pillow. He can sense Quinn hesitate at his side for a moment, and then her hand is smoothing gently across his brow before it is replaced by the light press of her lips, leaving a comforting warmth in their wake.  
  
"Things'll work out, Hunter," she reassures, her voice hushed. "I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

More time passes, and Kurt Hummel's business card remains untouched in the very back corner of Hunter's sock drawer, all but forgotten. Hunter spends most of his waking hours at the book shop, busying himself amongst the rows of novels and assisting the occasional customers that walk in. It is a simple routine, useless, in the grand scheme of things- it does absolutely nothing to distract him from the ever-present ache in his gut and the shot of pain that flares through him whenever he is in the company of Jesse and Rachel- but it is a routine nonetheless.  
  
_Jesse._ There are days when Hunter considers just packing up his belongings and uprooting himself, traveling to some other distant corner of the country, but that undeniable link refuses to let him. Things after the wedding aren't any better; in fact, they only seem to get worse. Hunter can hardly look Jesse in the eye, much less smile at Rachel and pretend that he isn't tortuously jealous of her. Not a day goes by that he doesn't wish things were different, that he weren't forced to love his best friend with every fiber of his being, that their relationship could revert back to how it _was_ before Hunter turned twenty-one and was thrust into this mess.  
  
He is exhausted. Another year of strangling himself with this supposed "bond," of trailing along after Jesse like some lost pup. He is twenty-six, a grown man, and yet he is stuck like _this_ , alone and desolate and hopelessly pining. The isolation has become such second-nature by now that Hunter is almost used to the hollow pang in his chest.  
  
Quinn had been right. The pain never really fades, it just becomes slightly more bearable, somehow, and Hunter isn't really sure when it happens. It just does.  
  
Nick has taken to calling him every other week or so. They don't talk about anything that actually _matters_ , but make aimless chit-chat instead, dancing around the lingering elephant in the room. He asks Hunter how business is doing, inquires into Quinn's well being, but never utters Jesse's name. It becomes an unspoken rule between them: Hunter had said that he _didn't_ want to talk about it, so they don't.  
  
His life has developed into something so monotonous and vacant that it's as if it doesn't even have a purpose anymore (which it hasn't, really, since the day he turned twenty-one and lost control of everything, _forever_ ).  
  
But at the basis of it all, there is still the one fact that is slowly becoming impossible to ignore:  
  
Hunter has given all that he can give, and soon, he won't have anything left.

*

Sometimes, he dreams.  
  
And in Hunter's subconscious, Jesse is always _his_. Completely and inescapably, they are bonded, and there is no one-sided longing or third party to cause any suffering.  
  
It's almost worse than reality, because Hunter never fails to recognize that it is all painfully in his imagination. However, he still allows himself those few precious moments, when in his mind, his fingers can hook through Jesse's and their bodies can embrace and their mouths can brush, and Hunter can do the one that he always craves- he can _touch_.  
  
Occasionally they speak, and other times, they don't; when they do, the words are nothing more than hushed murmurs of the other's name or quiet _I love you's_ , and Hunter often wakes up from these dreams feeling even emptier than usual, his fingers clamping roughly down against his pounding heart. His eyes will be wet, and he will blink furiously to try and rid himself of the images, of Jesse's blinding smile and the fondness in his eyes, the way his palm fits seamlessly against Hunter's.  
  
Hunter's own fingers will then find the outline of Jesse's name on his wrist, right over his pulse, and they will press down hard enough that he can remind himself. _This_ _is real. This is your life. Keep breathing._  
  
It's easier on some days more than others.

*

"Hunter?"   
  
A gentle hand is shaking him awake, and Hunter's eyes blink open to take in his fuzzy surroundings. He can eventually make out Quinn's blurred profile hovering above him, and he drowsily straightens up from his place on the couch, where he had managed to fall asleep at some point during the night.  
  
(He doesn't like his bed; it's too large, too cold. Too empty.)  
  
"Quinn?" he mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and peering up at his friend. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"I showed up at the shop and you weren't there, so I came to check in," she explains. "We were supposed to open a half hour ago."  
  
" _Shit_ ," Hunter curses, stumbling up to his feet and running a hand anxiously through his hair. He shoots a glance over at the clock in the kitchen, which reads 10:33, and resists the urge to slap himself upside the head.  
  
"If you give me the keys, I can head back and open up," Quinn offers. "It's no big deal. Honestly."  
  
With a low sigh, Hunter nods his head, shuffling over to the counter to retrieve his keys and pass them off to Quinn. "I'm really sorry," he mumbles. "I don't even remember falling asleep."  
  
Quinn lets out a soft laugh and shakes her head. "Hunter, it's fine. I can handle things for now. Take your time, and I'll see you in a bit, okay?"  
  
_Thank God for Quinn,_ his mind whispers as the blonde exits his apartment a moment later, leaving him alone once more. He's never been so careless before- the shop is his pride and joy, the one thing he's managed to do for himself in his sorry life, and to just oversleep and forget about it completely...  
  
The guilt churns delicately in Hunter's stomach, and he rubs a hand across his face in resignation. Apparently, he's more tired than he'd thought.

*

When he arrives at the shop a little under an hour later, he can immediately tell that something is off.  
  
Quinn's mouth is pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows drawn together, and she says nothing to Hunter as he enters the store, instead handing him a simple piece of paper.  
  
His mouth tips downwards as he hesitantly accepts the note, glancing up in a cautious attempt to catch Quinn's gaze. "What is it?"  
  
Quinn pulls her lip in between her teeth before meeting his eyes, and Hunter doesn't like what he sees there. He doesn't like it at all.  
  
_Pity._ Worse than it's ever been before, Quinn's gaze shines with it, the softest of frowns marring her features as she curls her arms around herself and shakes her head. "Just read it."  
  
With suddenly shaking hands, Hunter unfolds the slip of paper and stares down at it.  
  
_Property Confiscation Notice_  
  
The heading glares up at him in bold, black lettering, and as Hunter continues to read, his lungs begin to collapse in on themselves. He can't seem to get enough air, his mouth opening and closing as he chokes silently, no sound coming out. The trembling in his fingers increases until he can't even make out the words on the page, and he has to force himself to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. This- it doesn't feel real. It's like he's been thrown into the middle of some practical joke, but it isn't _funny_. The walls are closing in on him and the corners of his vision are tinted black, and he swears that the room is spinning, leaving him shocked and disoriented.  
  
"Can- can they even do this?" he gasps out. The paper slips from between his fingertips and flutters to the ground, and Hunter has to lean forward and rest his hands on the counter to keep his balance as his legs wobble precariously. Quinn reaches out and grasps at his shoulder, her face the epitome of concern, and Hunter clenches his eyes shut so that he doesn't have to see it.  
  
"Under certain legal procedures, yes," Quinn says carefully, but then rushes to correct herself as the color drains from Hunter's face. "But, Hunter, they can't- this isn't government owned property. You have to give your consent. And even if they still managed to twist things around, you could-"  
  
"I could _what_?" Hunter exclaims abruptly, flexing his fingers against the counter. "Take it to- to court? I wouldn't stand a chance, Quinn! It's the government! Not to mention I couldn't afford a lawyer if I tried, and..."  
  
_I'm not mated_ , he wants to yell, but he is already on the edge of hysterics, and voicing the pathetic truth of the situation isn't going to help matters. It's like someone has ripped out the last remaining pieces of his heart and stomped all over them, the minuscule parts that he hadn't been robbed of five years ago now cracked and torn as well, and it _hurts_. It hurts so fucking badly.   
  
Because it's not like he's already lost enough as it is.  
  
"Hunter, come on, we can figure this out," Quinn pleads, her normally composed demeanor falling short as she grasps tightly at his forearm. "This shop- it's yours, you can't just let them take it from you."  
  
"It's useless, Quinn!" he shouts, shaking free of her grip and pacing away from the counter. "It's done. They're going to take the only fucking thing I have, and I can't do shit to stop it."   
  
"Are you even listening to yourself?!" Quinn suddenly demands. Hunter halts mid-step, the frustration in his friend's voice something he's never bore witness to before. It sends something unpleasant skittering through his chest. "You get so angry when people sympathize for you, like it's causing you some sort of inconvenience, and yet you just sit around all the time and pity _yourself_! I know that it gets old, Hunter. I _know_ , okay?" her voice breaks, the slightest hint of moisture evident against her irises, and Hunter's stomach knots, the urge to apologize already slithering up his throat. But Quinn isn't finished. "I'm really sorry that you've been handed so much crap, but you seem to forget that you're not the only one stuck like this. I stare down at Finn's name on my wrist every single day and have to ask myself what the point even is in living anymore. Without him, I'm worthless. I don't know what I'm doing the majority of the time, don't even know why I'm bothering, but then I think about how he still loves me, no matter where he is right now, and that's enough. It's enough to force me to get out of bed and face the day, even when I know I have to do it without him."  
  
Quinn stops and inhales a shuddering breath. Her chest shakes as she wipes at the tears on her face with the back of her hand and straightens her shoulders, then adds in a much calmer tone, "if you give up, Hunter, you're only proving them all right. You have to be stronger than that."  
  
Any ability to form words has left him. Hunter is struck silent, his mind reeling as he attempts to comprehend the woman standing in front of him. Not once in their four years of friendship has he seen Quinn break. She has always kept her emotions perfectly in check, none of the pain visible from the outside, and Hunter has envied her for it. Quinn Fabray is the strongest person he knows, and to see her finally, finally lose it- it is terrifying.  
  
He wants to say something to comfort her, or refute her accusations, but through his shock, he eventually realizes that everything she's saying is true. He lashes out at anyone who tries to understand him, all while rotting away in his own self-pity. He is a hypocrite. Quinn's words are jarring, like a slap to the face.   
  
And he's ashamed.   
  
All at once, the tension drains from her body, and she moves forward again, picking up Hunter's hands and clutching them between her own. He grits his teeth and looks steadfastly away, and Quinn sighs. "Hunter-"  
  
"No," he interrupts, moving his gaze down to their joined hands. "Don't apologize. You've never apologized for being honest with me before. I'm _sorry_ , Quinn. I'm a selfish bastard, and I've known that you hurt too. It's just so hard to see past the pain sometimes, you know?" Hunter exhales slowly. "That's no excuse. This is just- it's the absolute last thing I want to be dealing with right now, but...you're right. I can't let them take this from me, because then what right do I even have to complain anymore?"  
  
Quinn laughs weakly, then lets out a small sniff. "I didn't mean to blow up like that. I just can't watch you do this to yourself anymore."  
  
Hunter's stomach lurches at the confession, and he gently releases Quinn's hands before pulling her body against his and wrapping his arms tightly around her. He buries his nose into her hair as she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and they stay like that for an impossibly long moment, his lips pressed lightly to the top of her head.  
  
"I'm really lucky to have you," he murmurs.  
  
Quinn's arms squeeze his waist gently before she pulls away, a weak smile forcing its way onto her features. "Damn straight you are," she replies quietly.

*

Back during their sophomore year, Hunter and Jesse had spent spring break across the country in Portland for a music festival. Hunter had dragged Jesse away from the venue one day to go scope out Powell's Books in downtown, and he still remembers the amused expression on Jesse's face as he followed Hunter through the maze of shelves.   
  
That was _before_ , when they were still just best friends without all of the complications. Rachel and Jesse were still in the platonic stage of their relationship, and Hunter had simply basked in spending a few days having fun with a close friend. It was completely harmless, yet perfect, and to this day, it's still one of his experiences with Jesse that he holds close.  
  
Powell's had been absolutely unreal; Hunter had never been surrounded by so many books at one time (the libraries back at Columbia excluded), and he'd ended up with a stack of novels filling his hands in a matter of minutes.  
  
Jesse himself had laughed at the sight and announced, "Christ, Hunt, you'll have to open your own book store one day at this rate."  
  
Hunter rolled his eyes. "You just don't get it," he said simply, juggling the pile of books in his arms. "Reading, it's...it's incredible, dude."  
  
"Wow, you're gay," Jesse muttered.  
  
Hunter would have swatted him upside the head if his hands weren't so full.

*

Now, he stands outside of Jesse and Rachel's apartment, the confiscation notice a wrinkled piece of paper in his hands. He thinks back to the pride he'd witnessed in Jesse's eyes when he'd told him about the book shop, and it's this image that gives him the courage to raise his fist and knock on the door, the sound echoing loudly through the vacant hallway.  
  
The door opens a few seconds later, and Rachel's eyes widen in surprise when she sees him. "Hunter!" she exclaims, her grin warm and genuine enough that he has to look away. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"I-" he begins, then stops, his free hand rising to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. "Is Jesse here?"  
  
"Oh, um- of course," Rachel responds, softly this time, before turning around and calling Jesse's name into the quiet apartment. His head appears behind Rachel's shoulder a minute later, and he brightens upon seeing Hunter, until the defeated look on his face must register and his expression immediately falls.  
  
"What's wrong, Hunt?" he asks in place of a greeting. Meanwhile, his palm falls to rest against Rachel’s hip in such a casual yet intimate way that Hunter has to forcefully swallow past the lump in his throat.  He inhales slowly before shoving the note in his hands towards where Jesse and Rachel stand in the doorway.  
  
"They want me out," he blurts. "I got the notice this morning, and I- I don't know what to do."  
  
He desperately tries to ignore the pointed look Rachel shoots up at Jesse and averts his gaze to the ceiling, counting the number of his breaths as the silence descends upon them. _One, two, three, four-_  
  
"Did you meet Kurt Hummel?" Rachel asks, a beat later, and Hunter glances over at her in surprise, the name prodding at some familiar part of his brain.  
  
"I...think I recognize the name," he says slowly. "Why?"  
  
He doesn't miss the question in Jesse's eyes as he looks back and forth between the two of them, but Rachel seems to pay her husband's confusion no mind, because she continues to speak. "He might be able to help."  
  
It suddenly clicks, as Hunter is deported back to one of the most draining and unbearable days of his life.  
  
_"I've been told I make a pretty good listener_."  
  
He links his fingers together in front of himself and peers over at Rachel, who appears to be waiting for him to say something. His mind is still drifting between the present moment and that horrible night, but somehow, he manages to shove the memories back where they belong, and drags in a deep breath. "Do you think you could help me contact him?"

_*_

_Kurt Hummel & Associates _is housed on the tenth floor of a towering glass building, right around the corner from the 8th street subway station. Hunter had called in early the previous morning, finally managing to get through to Kurt after an hour of the call getting passed around from employee to employee. Kurt had sounded shocked to be hearing from him after so much time, but still cleared a spot in his schedule so that Hunter can be where he is now, with the wrinkled business card tucked into his pocket as he gazes up at the rows of windows in front of him. Quinn had agreed to open for him again today so that he could make the trip downtown, and Hunter finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he makes his way inside. He does his best to stay out of the way of the suit-clad people rushing past him, eventually able to take refuge inside the elevator and exhale a steadying breath.

A few seconds later, the doors open to reveal the front desk, and he hesitantly makes his way up to the secretary, who looks up from her computer screen and greets him with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, scheduled time with Ku- Mr. Hummel?” he says carefully.

“Mr. Clarington?” she asks, and he nods. “He’s expecting you. The very last door on your left, you can’t miss it.”

Hunter thanks her before shoving his hands into his pockets and striding off in the direction she had implied, his eyes darting around the rest of the office surrounding him. An array of cubicles decked out with various filing cabinets and computers takes up most of the space, and the whir of printers and buzz of conversation fill the air noisily as Hunter passes by on his way to the specified office. Kurt’s office is, of course, at the end of the corridor, the glass door plated with the words _Kurt Hummel, Esq.,_ and Hunter steels himself before raising his fist to knock gently on the wooden frame.

“Come in!” Kurt calls, and Hunter inhales sharply before turning the knob and walking inside, his eyes falling on where Kurt sits behind a large wooden desk, piles of various papers scattered around him.

“Hunter. It’s been awhile,” he greets nonchalantly, capping his pen and gesturing forward at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

Hunter drops hesitantly onto the edge of the chair, his palms resting just above his knees, and manages to conjure up a weak smile. The edge of Kurt’s tattoo peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt, and Hunter immediately looks away, the image of Kurt and his curly-haired partner ( _Blaine,_ Hunter thinks) popping up in his mind and sending a flare of pain through his chest.

“Thank you for managing to fit me in so quickly,” Hunter finally murmurs, his hands rubbing anxiously across the tops of his thighs. “I was just thrown into this...mess a couple of days ago, and Rachel suggested I call you.”

“You mean you haven’t been staring aimlessly at my business card for these past few months?” Kurt demands, and it takes a moment for Hunter to note the playful tone of his voice. Once he does, a bit of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he gives a small shake of his head.

“I did hang onto it, for the record,” he admits.

“I believe you,” Kurt replies, offering Hunter a genuine smile as he leans forward to fold his hands neatly on his desk. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Clarington?”

Hunter goes on to explain his situation in the simplest of terms, talking about the bookshop and pulling the folded confiscation note out of his pocket to push across the desk towards Kurt, who gazes down at it with a slight wrinkle in his brow. He does his best to avoid the gritty, emotional details, forcing himself to keep his voice in check as he discusses his business and the possibility of it being ripped away from him. All the while, the hollow pang in his chest fails to recede, but Hunter keeps his tone calm, the words leaving him in a clipped and factual manner.

“I want to fight for it,” he says lastly as he drags in a deep breath. “I need this store, Kurt.”

Kurt is silent for a long moment, shooting a look between the notice and Hunter before settling his eyes on the paper once more. His forehead is drawn downwards, as if he is deep in thought, and eventually he straightens up in his seat and purses his lips, his fingertips tapping pensively against the desktop.

“Let me see what I can do,” he announces finally, turning back to his computer. “I’ll ask around, and you can come back next week to see if we’ve been able to accomplish anything.”

It isn’t good news, per say, but it’s at least a start, and the knot in Hunter’s stomach loosens slightly. He nods gratefully before rising from his chair and making his way towards the door, pausing to hesitate in the doorway for a brief moment.

“Thank you,” he calls, and Kurt glances up to shoot him a wry smile.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he responds.

*

He calls Nick that night to update him on the situation.

“Kurt Hummel, as in from the wedding?” Nick asks.

Hunter ignores the nausea that arises from the use of the word ‘wedding’ and nods, even though Nick can’t see him. “Yeah. Rachel gave me his name, actually.”

“So, is he going to help you out?”

“I don’t know yet,” Hunter replies, a low sigh escaping his lips. “I really hope so, Nick. I can’t-”

“I know,” Nick interrupts, his voice softer this time. “Just keep your head up, okay? There’s gotta be something they can do.”

“What if there's not?” he can’t help but mumble, his chin dropping into his hand. “I can’t even afford this. He’d only be doing it as a favor to Rachel, but if he says ‘no,’ I’m not going to have any other options.”

“Quit thinking like that,” Nick scolds. “Pessimism isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

 _But what reasons do you have to be optimistic in the first place?_ Hunter’s mind reminds him, and he frowns, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. “Sorry. It’s just...hard.”

Nick is silent for a long moment, and he doesn’t say _I know_ this time, because he doesn’t. He can’t even begin to comprehend what Hunter has experienced, and they are both well aware of this fact.

“Well, keep me informed, okay?” Nick tells him. “I’m always here if you need me.”

Hunter has to bite down his tongue to withhold his sharp retort, Quinn’s words from earlier in the week coming back to his mind. His friends only want to help; he can’t blame them for that.

“Say hi to Jeff for me,” he bids quietly, and Nick agrees before the dial tone sounds in Hunter’s ear.

*

A few months after starting at NYADA, Jesse scored a leading role in the school production of _Spring Awakening._ It had been a huge deal, apparently, because freshmen hardly ever landed the big parts in university plays. Hunter had dragged Jesse out to dinner to celebrate, and he listened readily over milkshakes and burgers at some New York-mockery of a diner while Jesse went into detail about his new castmates, particularly a fellow freshman named Rachel.

“She’s _incredible,_ dude,” Jesse exclaimed, shoving a handful of french fries into his mouth. “Her voice- it’s unreal.”

Hunter had teased him ruthlessly after that whenever Rachel’s name was mentioned, even once he was finally introduced to her during their random run-in at Callbacks. Jesse had obviously been over-the-moon about her, even back before they became bonded, and Hunter still remembers the time when he _could_ still make fun of his friend’s monster-sized crush without being subjected to the pain of his own longing as well.

It had never been a question, whether Jesse loved Rachel or Rachel loved Jesse; Hunter was the only confounding variable that had been thrown into the equation, the one to tip the delicate balance and throw off all of the results. And to this day, he still hates to think about, the possibility that he could have been _normal_ and all three of their lives could have been left perfectly intact.

The five years of all the _what ifs_ have been slowly killing him.

*

“Hunter, I want you to meet Sebastian Smythe. He’ll be the one handling your case.”

Kurt gestures over at the man seated beside him, who stands upon Hunter’s arrival and stretches out his hand to shake. “Mr. Clarington,” he greets, slipping his palm into Hunter’s own and nodding cordially at him. His lips curl into a small smirk as he grips Hunter’s palm firmly,  and Hunter smiles tightly before drawing back his hand in order to take in the sight of his apparent “lawyer.” Sebastian Smythe is tall and broad-shouldered, his brown hair slicked back carefully and his tie resting neatly against his chest. His facial features give off the impression that he is a few years younger than both Kurt and Hunter, to which Hunter is slightly surprised, but he tries not to let Smythe’s age bother him. Younger doesn’t necessarily mean less experienced, and Hunter doesn’t doubt that Kurt wouldn’t have entrusted Sebastian with his case if he weren’t at least slightly knowledgeable.

Not to mention that Hunter is basically desperate at this point, and he’ll take whatever representation he can get.

“Sebastian’s already had the chance to glimpse over my notes, but he’ll probably want to ask you a few questions about your story firsthand,” Kurt explains before rising from his chair and making his way towards the door. “He’s extremely capable, Hunter. I hope that we can get this case to fall in your favor.”

“Me too,” Hunter echoes quietly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes for a brief moment as Kurt leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. He eyes flutter open again a moment later to find his new lawyer— _Sebastian_ —sliding a stack of notes from his briefcase and laying them out on the conference table in front of him.

“So,” Sebastian begins, uncapping his pen with his teeth and scribbling something in the margin of his notes. “Talk to me.”

Hunter blinks, then scratches at the back of his neck. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything,” Sebastian declares, point-blank. “The history of your business, your personal reasons for keeping it up-and-running—aside from the obvious need for income, of course. Anything you can tell me will be useful. I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Clarington. Property cases can get messy, especially where the government is involved, so I’m going to need your full cooperation, alright? You want to win this, and I want to win this for you, but that isn’t going to happen if we’re not on the same page.”

“You’re very straightforward, aren’t you?” Hunter blurts. Smythe’s all-business expression breaks for a brief second, his mouth quirking upwards into another calm smirk before nods shortly.

“Yes. I’m not going to sugar-coat anything for you, but I also can promise that I am very good at what I do.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter examines the no-nonsense look that reappears on Smythe’s features. He is watching Hunter closely, his eyes narrowed and his legs crossed as he leans back in his seat, but he doesn’t seem- intimidating, exactly. Just determined, and he radiates a sort of realistic attitude that reminds Hunter a lot of Quinn, except with five times the amount of intensity.

“I don’t doubt that,” Hunter murmurs finally. He crosses his arms over his chest and hunches forward to rest his elbows on the table in front of him. “But before I tell you anything...could you drop the ‘Mr. Clarington,’ please? I’m not even thirty yet.”

Sebastian barks out a sharp laugh, and the sound startles Hunter, causing his own lips to turn upwards in response. He waits patiently for the other man to collect himself, and a minute or so later, Sebastian has calmed down again, but his eyes still hold a small spark of amusement.

“I can do that,” he agrees, before picking up his pen again. “Now tell me about your bookstore, Hunter.”


	5. Chapter 5

It's difficult to discuss the book shop without making reference to his own mateless status, but somehow, Hunter manages.  
  
Sebastian obviously senses that there is more to Hunter's story, but thankfully, he doesn't ask any unwanted questions. He merely scribbles away at his notes every few minutes or looks to Hunter for clarification on a certain statement. Occasionally, his sleeve will catch on the edge of the table and pull up slightly, and Hunter will glance at the hint of black that becomes exposed on Sebastian's wrist, a bleak sort of curiosity causing him to wonder whose name is written there.  
  
A full hour later, Hunter has run out of things to say. He scratches absently at the bottom of his chin and waits as Sebastian finishes writing something down, then sets his pen aside and leans forward to fold his hands on the table.  
  
"Look," he begins carefully, catching Hunter's eye. "I can understand why you're withholding some stuff. Clearly you've had a rough go at it, and I respect that, I do. But if you want even the slightest chance at winning this, I _need_ you to tell me the whole truth, okay?"  
  
_Busted._  
  
His stomach knots, and he stares nervously across at Sebastian, who simply arches an eyebrow. The two then eye each other for a long moment. Sebastian's gaze is curious, but not forceful, as if he is waiting patiently for Hunter to decide whether he will speak or not.  
  
Eventually, Hunter exhales a long breath and gives a stilted nod of his head. Of course he wouldn't get away with it; why did he even bother trying? Sebastian is only trying to help him, and Hunter had best cooperate, because he needs all the help he can get.  
  
"I-" he begins, but his mouth closes again. Hesitantly, he rolls back his sleeve and extends his arm across the table so that Sebastian can examine the name on his wrist.  
  
He feels surprisingly vulnerable as Sebastian tilts his head and takes in the engraved black cursive, as if all of his pent-up issues have suddenly surfaced and are visible for the world to see. This isn't the case, obviously, but Hunter still waits with bated breath, not saying anything. He allows the name on his skin to explain everything for him, and the moment the comprehension dawns on Sebastian's face is evident, his eyes widening minutely and his brows drawing together.  
  
Sebastian raises his eyes once more, finding Hunter's gaze. There is something unreadable there, a bit unnerving, but Hunter hardly spares the look a passing thought before he turns away. His attention is caught on the way the 'J' in Jesse's name swoops around elegantly, almost like a noose locking around a neck.  
  
"I don't have anything," Hunter murmurs eventually, pushing his sleeve back down and twisting his hands together in front of himself. "Just this store. And I can't let them take that, too."  
  
Sebastian purses his lips as he takes in Hunter's words. His gaze falls to the stack of papers before him, and he absently shuffles them together, almost as if he is resisting the urge to say something. Hunter watches all of this through narrowed eyes, his stomach swooping in uneasiness. He is expecting Sebastian to ask him more questions, or perhaps give him some meaningless words of reassurance. Instead, the man rises from his chair and slips his papers back into his briefcase, all while studiously ignoring Hunter's gaze.  
  
"I'm going to win this case for you," he says finally. Hunter pauses, halfway out of his chair, and looks up to find Sebastian actually looking at him, his expression earnest. "You've lost enough as it is."  
  
There is a hint of understanding in Sebastian's tone, and Hunter tries not to think too much of it.

*

"How did it go yesterday?"  
  
Hunter looks up from the register as the bell jingles above the door and Quinn enters the shop. His fingers are busy separating coins into the drawer, and he only stops long enough to mumble a weak _fine_ before he resumes his work.  
  
"Hunter," Quinn sighs, and he empties the rest of the change from his hands before lifting his head again.  
  
"What?" he asks.  
  
"You're impossible," she grouses.  
  
"It's part of my charm," Hunter deadpans, making his way around the counter and heading for the biography section of the shop. The building is quiet, as usual, and there is a box of new arrivals waiting to be shelved that has his name written all over it. Unfortunately, Quinn follows along after him, and he purposefully ignores her presence as he unloads a stack of books from the box and begins examining the shelves for the proper placement.  
  
"You are charming, for the record," she supplies.  
  
Hunter snorts.  
  
"Yes, but I'm also physically incapable of using that charm on anyone, so I guess the general population is out of luck."  
  
Quinn rolls her eyes before stooping down to grab her own handful of books. "You don't give yourself enough credit. Now will you tell me about the meeting already?"  
  
Hunter shoves one of the books in his hands into the 'S' section, then says, "his name's Sebastian Smythe. He asked me a few questions, I answered. That's it."  
  
Quinn shoots him a look. "What did he need to know?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
"...oh."  
  
Hunter raises his eyebrows in a way that screams, _see?_ Meanwhile, Quinn chews thoughtfully on her lower lip before she speaks again.  
  
"Well, does he think that you'll-"  
  
"Win? I don't know. He seems pretty determined, so...I hope so."  
  
Quinn nods, and the two of them fall into a companionable silence as they continue to shelve the box of books at their feet. The moment only shifts when the bell over the door sounds, and Quinn sets down her stack of books before turning away to head for the counter.  
  
"I've got it."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Hunter hears the faint sounds of conversation coming from around the corner as Quinn and the customer speak, but he ignores them as he scans the rows of novels in front of him for the L's. He's just placing the book in his hand into the proper spot when someone clears their throat from behind him, and he spins around.  
  
"Didn't I just see you?" he blurts.  
  
Sebastian lifts his shoulders in a shrug before stepping forward, his eyes rising to scan the shelves around him. "I figured I'd come scope the place out for myself," he replies, his eyes returning to Hunter. "It's good to know what you're fighting for, right?"  
  
Hunter's forehead wrinkles at that, and he resolutely turns away, setting another book on the shelf.   
  
"Okay, so maybe I just needed you to sign something for me, and wanted to get out of the office," Sebastian admits, pulling out the folder that has been tucked beneath his arm the entire time and passing it to Hunter. "It's mainly formalities, saying that you've given full consent for me to use whatever information you give me. The address of your shop was on file, too, so I promise I didn't just google-stalk you or something."  
  
Hunter arches an eyebrow as he flips open the folder, his eyes skimming the documents inside of it. "Do you have a pen?"  
  
Sebastian's hand appears in his line of vision, and he accepts the writing utensil before signing in all of the proper spots and passing the papers back to the man in front of him. Sebastian doesn't look much different than the day before, dressed in a simple pair of charcoal slacks and a white dress shirt, but his tie is looser and his jacket nowhere to be seen.  
  
_Effects of the outside world_ , Hunter thinks, before gesturing with his hand to the shelves behind him.  
  
"So, what do you think?" he questions casually. "Pretty lame, right? There's no reason for the government to want a place like this."  
  
Sebastian hums noncommittally as he tucks the folder back beneath his arm. "It's not bad, actually."  
  
"Are you even a reader?" Hunter has to ask.  
  
Sebastian's mouth quirks upwards, his fingers playing across the spines of the books to his left. "Does enjoying _Johnny Tremain_ in the seventh grade count?"  
  
"Unbelievable," Hunter mumbles, finishing shelving the last of the titles in his hands and bending to pick up the now empty box beside him. Sebastian tosses him that same smirk from when they'd been introduced the day before, and Hunter scowls, turning away to head back towards the counter.  
  
"Quinn! Why'd you let my lawyer in here?"  
  
Quinn looks up from the novel in her lap, and she gazes back and forth between Hunter and Sebastian for a brief moment before wrinkling her nose. "He did show up during business hours," she offers.  
  
Sebastian's smirk widens, and Hunter just shakes his head. "She's a lot more intelligent than you said she was."  
  
"Are you sure he's your lawyer?" Quinn interrupts, raising an eyebrow. "He's awfully talkative. And not very intimidating."  
  
"I'm always nicer while trying to get to know clients," Sebastian scoffs. "Besides, Hunter here is a special case. The boss wants me to do an extra good job, so I have to be on my best behavior."  
  
"Are you implying that you normally aren't?" Hunter questions. Sebastian shrugs his shoulders and adjusts the folder under his arm.  
  
"Maybe, maybe not," he responds, turning to make his way towards the door of the shop. "I'll see you next Wednesday."  
  
The moment the door clanks shut, Quinn turns to Hunter. "You two were friendly."  
  
"I met him yesterday and had to spill my guts to him, Quinn," Hunter sighs, tucking the cardboard box in his hands into the nook behind the counter. "These aren't exactly normal circumstances."  
  
"It was just an observation," Quinn murmurs. "I like him."  
  
"Great," Hunter responds sarcastically. "I'll make sure and tell him you approve at our next meeting-slash-therapy-session."  
  
Quinn merely shakes her head. "You're cranky today. Don't you have more books to shelve?"  
  
"Hey, I'm the boss here, not you."

*

Sometimes, his dreams turn into nightmares.  
  
He is in pain. So much pain, and it is everywhere, enveloping him and consuming him. His body will be dangling from a rocky precipice, and the whispers of _he'll never love you_ will kick at where his hand is clutching for survival until he is grasping at nothing but air.  
  
And then the nightmares turn into memories.

*

“Did you love me?”

Hunter stilled. His beer bottle froze halfway to his lips, the lines of his body going rigid, and his eyes focused straight ahead rather than turning to Jesse, who reclined lazily on the couch beside him.

A part of him wanted to think that he hadn’t quite heard the question correctly. His mind was slightly fuzzy after the few beers he’s had, so there was the possibility that he was hallucinating, hearing voices when there weren’t any.

“What?” he asked slowly.

“I asked if you loved me. Before,” Jesse clarified, and Hunter’s fingers tightened around the neck of his bottle as a sharp ache shot through the inside of his chest. He held his gaze steady, stared directly across at the opposite wall and clenched his jaw.

“Why would you even ask me that?” he grit out.

It had been just over a year. One year since Hunter woke up to find his best friend’s name on his wrist, one year since his entire life went straight to hell with no way for him to stop it. It hadn’t become any more bearable—he _wanted_ Jesse, all the time, and it was difficult enough to even be in his proximity without Rachel being thrown into the mix. All three of them had been tiptoeing around each other for months, completely avoiding any discussion of Hunter’s predicament, and he was starting to rip apart at the seams with the amount of repression he’d been forced to do.

The worst part was that Jesse didn’t even seem to _care._ He went on acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary, as if he could still simply clap Hunter on the shoulder and smile his stupid, beautiful smile and make everything okay again, when he couldn’t. Hunter was losing his mind from the constant desperation that curled through his veins, and the only person he’d be willing to talk about things with steadfastly reaffirmed that he _wouldn’t_ talk about it. Hunter didn’t have a best friend to confess to anymore, because his best friend was the problem.

But _now_ Jesse was trying to bring it up?

“Well, these bonds don’t usually come out nowhere,” Jesse explained, vaguely waving a hand between Hunter and himself, “so I figured...well, you must’ve felt something for me, right?”

“You think I was in _love_ with you?” Hunter hissed, just before releasing a near-hysterical laugh. “Wow, Jesse. I’ve always known you were self-entitled, but to just assume that I’ve been pining away after you since _before_ I got stuck with this stupid tattoo...go _fuck_ yourself.”

Hunter slammed his bottle down onto the coffee table in front of them before pushing angrily up to his feet, ignoring Jesse’s hesitant call from behind him. An entire year of completely ignoring Hunter’s emotions and pretending as if everything was just fucking dandy, and Jesse decided to bring up the subject not only when he was drunk, but in the most ridiculous, irritating, and dismissing way possible.

Hunter wanted to throw something.

“Hunt, hang on a sec—” Jesse repeated, and Hunter whirled around.

“No, I’m not going to ‘hang on,’ Jesse!” he shouted. “I’ve been hanging on for a _year!_ I’ve been dying inside for a whole _year_ and you haven’t given a shit, and now you have the fucking nerve to ask me if I was in love with you? Seriously, who do you think you are?”

He shoved at Jesse’s chest, and his friend stumbled backwards a step, his shin colliding with the side of the couch. Hunter’s chest heaved with every breath, and he watched Jesse straighten back up through narrowed eyes, waiting for him to steady himself before speaking again.

“Do you think I _asked_ for this?” he demanded, his voice much lower. “Newsflash, Jesse: my life fucking sucks, and there’s no way that this is how I wanted it to turn out.”

“I didn’t-” Jesse said weakly, then looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Hunter muttered, folding his arms across his chest and resolutely ignoring Jesse’s gaze as he hovered a few feet away. The silence between them was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, and Hunter’s body hurt. He and Jesse didn’t _do_ this; they’d never fought before. Not once, and now here they were, standing on opposite ends of Hunter’s living room without a single thing to say to each other.

“You should leave,” Hunter eventually said, when the quiet had grown so stifling that he couldn’t take it anymore. _Go home and forget that you ever started this conversation._

Jesse didn’t argue. He picked up his jacket and shot Hunter one last pleading look before slipping out the door and into the night, the _click_ of the lock behind him sounding far too final for Hunter’s liking.

*

Six years, and that night had been the closest they ever came to actually talking about it.

Hunter has wasted endless amounts of energy trying to forget about that first year. It wasn’t a good time in his life. He’s ashamed to even think about it, to remember the mess that he’d become while his closest friends witnessed his breakdown from afar and didn’t do a thing to stop it. A string of lonely nights, accompanied by alcohol—so much alcohol. Drowning his sorrows became his favorite pastime, though all it managed to do was trap him in his own thoughts, left him craving a warmth he would never have even more so than before.

  
As he drags himself along that morning, groggily brushing his teeth and avoiding his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, he realizes that the previous twenty-four hours had actually been more bearable than usual, up until he'd fallen asleep and slipped away into his own heartache.  
  
He spits into the sink and watches as the foam slithers down into the drain, his thoughts a jumbled mess in his head. He can't explain it; maybe it had just been the tiniest stroke of luck amidst a cloud of so many bad ones. But yet, the escape from his troubles hadn’t lasted- it would never last. His subconscious, his entire being, would always bring him back to _Jesse, Jesse, Jesse,_ like a tape suck on an endless loop.

Hunter can’t help but think that the sight of the water rinsing away the remnants of his toothpaste bears a scary resemblance to the washing away of his last shreds of sanity.


	6. Chapter 6

On Wednesday morning, Hunter is back in the conference room at _Hummel & Associates_, seated across from Sebastian and his endless array of folders and papers. It's rather early, not much past nine o'clock, and Hunter has to stifle the urge to let out a yawn, his hand rising to cover his mouth. Sebastian is saying something, but in all honesty, he isn't really listening, and it takes a beat of silence before he realizes that Sebastian has stopped speaking and is awaiting his response.  
  
"...I may or may not have missed everything you just said," Hunter admits.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian shakes his head and releases a low sigh, shuffling his papers around for a moment before passing a stack over to Hunter. Hunter's eyes fall to scan across the small print in front of him, the words blurring together slightly, and he rubs at his eyes before trying to focus again.  
  
To say he hasn't been sleeping well lately is a bit of an understatement. Ever since the first nightmare almost a week ago, his mind has been restless and has left him startling awake in the middle of the night more often than not. He drags himself through each day drearily, and the lack of rest is finally starting to affect him now as he stares blankly down at the papers in front of him.  
  
"I was _saying_ that I need you to look over those and sign a few more things," Sebastian is explaining, and Hunter scrubs a palm across his eyes again before lifting his head. He blinks a couple of times, then glances over at Sebastian, who looks a bit less irritated now as he takes in the exhaustion on Hunter's features.  
  
"Sorry," Hunter mumbles, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. "I'm a little out of it."  
  
"You doing okay?" Sebastian inquires, his tone suddenly filled with genuine concern, and Hunter blanches. He peers across the table, examining the honest question that lies in Sebastian's expression.   
  
"I'm surviving," he answers softly before ducking his head. Sebastian's gaze is a steady weight on the top of his head, but Hunter does his best to ignore the discomfort that settles low in his stomach at the attention and stares down at his hands. The room falls quiet, the rustle of Sebastian's paper the only sound to be heard, and eventually Hunter forces himself to clear his throat and look back up again, tucking the exhaustion and the desolation away to the furthest corner of his mind.  
  
"Just tell me where to sign?" he asks quietly, and after a minute, Sebastian nods, his fingers settling against the paper and pointing at a blank line. They spend awhile going over the papers, Sebastian summarizing and directing so that all Hunter has to do is move his pen across the documents. His sleep-deprived brain is grateful. Sebastian is as relaxed as always, not pressing him for details, and Hunter knows that it doesn't have to be this way. He could be pestering Hunter with questions or shoving the details of the case into his face, but he isn't. He isn't because Hunter obviously doesn't want to deal with things right now, and the fact that Sebastian is still being so accommodating is...surprising, to say the least.  
  
They finish with the papers about an hour later, and Hunter has to forcibly blink through the grit in his eyes to keep himself awake. He groans a bit under his breath before straightening up once more, and Sebastian is watching him again, a small, amused grin playing at his mouth.  
  
"You look like you could use a coffee," he declares.  
  
Hunter pushes up to his feet slowly, his limbs cracking as he stretches them out after sitting for so long, and glances back at Sebastian, his brows furrowing slightly. "Don't you have a job to do?"  
  
"My next client isn't coming in until one," Sebastian replies, rising and pocketing his wallet and phone before stacking his papers neatly at the edge of the table and turning to Hunter. "And you obviously need caffeine. Come on."  
  
Hunter lets out a small huff but obliges, following Sebastian out of the conference room and towards the elevator. They end up in front of the small drink stand in the lobby of the building, Sebastian paying for Hunter's coffee despite his protests and leading him over to a table off to the side. Hunter eagerly deposits a healthy amount of cream and sugar into his cup before sliding into the seat across from Sebastian, his fingers clutching at the edges of his drink and raising it to his lips.  
  
"You didn't have to pay," he mumbles before taking a sip, and Sebastian merely raises a brow.  
  
"Just accept my generosity and move on, Clarington," he replies airily.  
  
"You're already doing enough for me as it is," Hunter adds, quieter this time as he sets down his cup and folds his hands absently in front of him. Sebastian tips his head to the side, watching him with a peculiar look on his face, and Hunter fidgets in his chair before glancing away.  
  
"You don't owe me anything," Sebastian says finally. "Don't think of it like that. I only want to help."  
  
_I'm going to owe you a lot if this works out_ , Hunters wants to argue, but his mouth remains shut. His thumb traces the rim of his cup aimlessly as he stares off at the nameless faces that pass by on their way in and out of the building, and vaguely, he wonders how many of them are like him. If they have a name on their wrist that they wish they could get rid of, if they're just as lonely and just as lost.  
  
His lips part, and he wants to ask Sebastian about his own mate, but he stops himself just in time. It wouldn't be appropriate. Not only that, but it's none of his business- just because Sebastian knows the basics of his own life story doesn't mean that the sharing-and-caring has to be reciprocated.  
  
This is strictly business, after all.  
  
"I haven't thanked you yet," he voices a few seconds later.  
  
Sebastian's head tips to the side. "That's because I haven't exactly done anything," he murmurs.  
  
"No, but you're trying."  
  
Sebastian's forehead wrinkles slightly, and he stares over at Hunter as if he is searching for something- though Hunter doesn't know what.  
  
"Tell me about him," Sebastian prompts abruptly.  
  
Hunter's eyelids flutter as his gaze drops to the coffee below him, and he stares into the brown liquid without uttering a word. His fingers have stilled against the edge of the cup, and there is a sudden tightness in his chest as his thoughts shift to Jesse. There are so many things that he could say, but instead, what comes out is a bitter, "why?"  
  
Sebastian simply shrugs. It should be infuriating, his nonchalance and his audacity to even ask such a question, but Hunter then remembers the understanding in Sebastian's gaze at the sight of his tattoo, and he somehow finds himself speaking again.  
  
"I want to hate him," Hunter murmurs, dropping his fingers from his cup and curling them around the edge of the table. "I want to hate him so much for tossing my emotions aside all of this time, for avoiding the entire issue...for not loving me back. But I can't even do that, because my mind and my heart and every other part of me keep telling me that he's it, you know?"  
  
It is a rhetorical question. Maybe Sebastian does know, or maybe he doesn't. Hunter isn't even sure why he is saying all of this, what's led him to finally open his mouth, but now that he has, he can't seem to hold the words back.  
  
"I've known him since high school. We met through the show choir circuit- _yes_ , don't laugh, I was in show choir," he grumbles, when the slightest hint of a smile appears on Sebastian's face. "And then we both ended up out here for college. He's been my best friend since we were eighteen. When he met Rachel, I was happy for him. It's hard to believe now, after all the years of this...seething jealousy."  
  
He reaches up with one hand and runs his fingers anxiously through his hair, pointedly ignoring Sebastian's gaze. "My twenty-first birthday was the worst day of my life. I didn't want to hate him at first- I hated myself. For unwillingly posing an obstacle to our friendship, and to his relationship with Rachel...but then things started to change, and he began to ignore me. Not literally- we still talked. But never about the fact that his name was on my wrist. And I just...I lost it."  
  
His voice has gone softer, and Hunter swallows around the sudden lump in his throat as the memories hit him. The hole in his chest, how it had seemed to grow larger and larger with each passing day- the attempts at filling it with something else, all of the empty bottles, the cold, lonely nights- and then-  
  
The words get suck, and Hunter immediately looks away. He won't- he _can't_ -  
  
_They don't talk about that_.  
  
"How old are you?"   
  
The question leaves Sebastian without warning, and Hunter is startled into answering.  
  
"Twenty six," he whispers.  
  
"Nearly six years," Sebastian muses, and his tone isn't apologetic, but it isn't scathing, either. His mouth presses into a thoughtful line, and his eyes wander off to some unfathomable point in the distance, his expression remaining neutral. "You've got a lot of strength if you've put up with that asshole for so long."  
  
His first instinct is to jump to Jesse's defense- because he's made some shitty decisions, sure, but he's Hunter's best friend, and he's never intentionally tried to hurt him.  
  
But he's never intentionally tried to help him, either.  
  
"I'm serious," Sebastian continues, leaning forward in his chair and folding his arms across the table. His eyes settle purposefully on Hunter, who is caught, unable to look away. "You've been through a lot- anyone with eyes can see that. And the fact that you've made your way out of it, alive and breathing...it says everything."  
  
People keep saying these things. Calling him brave, or strong, or admirable- and he doesn't feel like any of these things. Hunter is a coward. He is a man that has been dealt a crappy hand, and is now trying to play it out the best way he can, despite the reality that he is destined to lose.  
  
He's the furthest thing from brave.  
  
"You don't even know me," he says lowly.  
  
"You're easy to read," is Sebastian's response. "And like it or not, I have to get to know you one way or another. We're in this together, and I'm not going to let them take your store. I keep my promises."  
  
There is an unfamiliar lurch in Hunter's stomach.   
  
He shuts his eyes and blows out a steadying exhale before asking, "how old are you?"  
  
"Twenty four," Sebastian answers, "but I'm the best damn twenty-four year old lawyer in this state."

*

Weeks pass.  
  
The case limps along, with little progress. Hunter makes various court appearances, meets with Sebastian twice, three times a week, and even pays a visit to the city's landholding office, but to no avail. Things are not falling in his favor, but they are not necessarily going against him, either, and he tries to remain hopeful.  
  
_I keep my promises._ Sebastian's words are ever-present in his mind, and it may be possible that he's putting too much faith in a man that he hardly knows, but Hunter desperately wants to believe him.  
  
Unfortunately, he still isn't sleeping. It's as if now that he's unlocked so many of the memories, he can't store them away again, and every time he closes his eyes, images of Jesse and Rachel and the past six years flash before him. What is surprising, however, is that Hunter looks at the nightmares as a small price to pay, because during the day, he is...fine. Almost.  
  
Slowly but surely, he feeds Sebastian more and more pieces of his story, allows the man to connect the dots with each new bit of information. He tells himself that it is for the good of the case- that the more Sebastian knows, the better their chances- but in all honesty, he's stopped looking at Sebastian as being merely his lawyer, and now considers him to be a friend.  
  
The beauty of Sebastian is that he never judges. Everything Hunter reveals to him, he takes in stride, both the good and the bad. His condolences and commentary are minimal, which Hunter also appreciates. Their relationship is the kind of simple that Hunter needs, something straightforward and reliable in his tangled mess of a life.  
  
He wonders if he should send Kurt Hummel a thank-you card, but thinks better of it.  
  
Quinn has noticed the change in him as well. "You're...content," she tells him one day, as they shelve a new delivery of books in the back corner of the shop. "I don't know if that's actually the case, but you look better. Relaxed. And I'm glad."  
  
In reality, he isn't quite sure if he's any better. Sebastian just allows him to forget for a little while, and a short reprieve, though not a lasting solution, is better than nothing.

*

Two months later, Hunter gets a call.  
  
"We're coming to visit!" Jeff shouts excitedly.  
  
He and Nick fly in a week later, and Hunter heads out to pick them up, unable to keep the grin off his face as Jeff wraps him up in an almost painfully tight hug. Nick, meanwhile, claps him on the shoulder and shoots him a look that says, _we missed you_ , and Hunter feels calmer than he has in months.  
  
In the car on the way back to the apartment, Jeff rambles on about life back in Chicago, talking about work and their other friends and how Nick has mentioned that they might get a dog ( _a puppy, Hunter! I'm gonna be a pet owner,_ he announces). Hunter laughs, asking him what kind, and when, and has he considered any names yet?  
  
Jeff's energy is infectious. It fills up some of the empty corners of Nick's being, and when the three of them go out to dinner that night, his chest only knots the tiniest bit as Nick reaches out and tangles his fingers between Jeff's own.  
  
They go to visit Quinn the next morning, and she brightens immediately at the sight of Nick and Jeff walking in the cafe door before she is quickly smashed into a hug between the two of them. They dote on her for a good twenty minutes, until a customer approaches the counter and clears their throat quite loudly, leaving both Jeff and Nick with guilty expressions on their faces.  
  
Hunter eventually manages to get them settled in at a table while they wait for Quinn's shift to finish, and Nick begins to interrogate him as soon as they sit down (not that Hunter's exactly surprised).  
  
"How's the shop?" he asks.  
  
Hunter purses his lips as he tries to come up with the most honest answer. "It's...okay," he says slowly. "The case is at a bit of a standstill, but nothing negative has happened yet, so that counts for something, right?"  
  
"You seem like you're doing alright," Jeff acknowledges, his chin dropping to rest on Nick's shoulder. "So it definitely counts."  
  
Hunter smiles weakly at his friend as his fingers twist together in his lap. "I'm still pretty exhausted, but...not like before. It's an improvement."  
  
"Good," Nick murmurs, and when Hunter meets his gaze, there is an honest sort of pride in his eyes, a shine that shows just how happy he is that Hunter is managing.  
  
_Really_ managing.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here," a voice suddenly pipes in from behind him, and Hunter turns around in his chair to spot Sebastian, one eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face. The urge to roll his eyes is instantaneous, so he does, tipping his head for the other to come closer before looking back at Nick and Jeff.  
  
"Way to interrupt. Sebastian, this is Nick and Jeff," he says, gesturing between them. "And this is the loser who's supposed to be representing me in court."  
  
Jeff sticks out his hand and shoots Sebastian a beaming smile. "Hi!" he greets.   
  
"Hello," Sebastian responds, much more subdued as he shakes Jeff's hand and then Nick's. "You're the Chicago guys, aren't you?"  
  
"Aw, Hunt talks about us," Jeff drawls, and Hunter narrows his eyes begrudgingly.  
  
"Never," he declares, ignoring the way Nick's eyes shoot up to his hairline as he glances back and forth between Hunter and Sebastian. There is a moment where his expression morphs into something Hunter can't quite read, but it is gone a split second later as Nick glances back up at Sebastian.  
  
"He's sort of difficult. I'm sorry you have to put up with him."  
  
"Worst client ever," Sebastian agrees solemnly, and Hunter grunts.   
  
"Unfair," he mumbles. "You just met, and you're already ganging up on me."  
  
"Are you _sure_ you're older than me? Because not even I can whine like that," Sebastian adds.  
  
Hunter shoots him a glare.  
  
"Hunt here is very wise for his age, actually," Jeff voices, and after a minute, Sebastian laughs.  
  
"Believe me, I know," he concedes. "Mind if I sit?"

*

That night, Nick comes to join him on the couch.  
  
It's almost reminiscent of the morning before Jesse's bachelor party ( _no, bad, don't think about it_ , his mind screams). The two of them are seated in a not uncomfortable silence, some random television show playing in the background. The atmosphere is heavy with the unspoken questions that Hunter knows Nick is dying to ask, but he's almost afraid to hear them, because Nick's inquiries have always been the kind to get right to the heart of a matter.  
  
"I like Sebastian," his friend finally murmurs.  
  
"Everyone does," Hunter responds softly, and Nick eventually turns on the couch to face him, his legs pulled up beneath him.  
  
There is a curiosity engraved on his features that catches Hunter off guard, and he tries not to read too hard into the look, but the question in Nick's eyes is unavoidable. He goes to open his mouth, but Hunter beats him to it, the iron wedge immediately driving itself into his gut.  
  
"I can't," he says stoically.  
  
"Hunter-"  
  
" _No_ ," Hunter spits, and Nick sighs.  
  
"Have you even tried?" he asks.  
  
"Do you not get it? I physically _can't_ ," he hisses. "I tried once before, and it was a complete disaster."  
  
"That wasn't the same thing," Nick argues. He slumps back into the couch, his hands sliding up to run through his hair. "I just think that- maybe this could be..."  
  
"There's no 'solution,' Nick," Hunter growls. "I'm stuck like this. Always. I'm never going to be able to escape it, so why try?"  
  
Nick falls silent, and Hunter's lungs expand as he takes a deep breath. Nick thinks that an answer is easy, simple, but Hunter knows better.  
  
The thought of a random stranger's hands on him in the bathroom of some nameless bar is still enough to raise the bile in his throat, and his mind will never forget the painful fight that his body had put up, every inch of him screaming _no, only Jesse, Jesse_ as if it were a cry for help.  
  
Things with Sebastian are not the same. Hunter refuses to even consider it- Sebastian is his friend, his lawyer, and many things in between, but Hunter isn't stupid enough to think that Sebastian holds the key to fixing all of his issues.  
  
There is no key for that.  
  
"Do you even talk to Jesse anymore?" Nick asks quietly.  
  
Hunter pauses.  
  
"...yes. Sometimes," he murmurs before looking away.   
  
"You _can_ let him go," Nick urges. "Not completely. But enough."  
  
"Sebastian's mate-"   
  
"Is the half of someone else's whole, just like you," Nick interjects, "and you know it. Just think about it, Hunt. That's all I'm saying."  
  
Hunter nods stiltedly, but already knows that this conversation will soon enough have dissolved into the back fragments of his mind.

*

He dreams of Jesse that night.  
  
But it is not the subject of the dream that is a surprise. It is the discussion itself.  
  
"You'd leave me for him?" Jesse is asking him, and Hunter wants to throw himself at his friend's feet and scream _no, no._ The venom and the distaste in Jesse's voice _kills_ him- he sounds utterly betrayed, and Hunter's heart cracks in two, fracturing open and sending pain radiating out from his chest.  
  
"We're _bonded_ ," Jesse spits, but he makes the word sound dirty, like it is something to be disrespected. "You can't leave me, even if you want to."  
  
_Jesse,_ Hunter tries to plead, but he is mute, his mouth opening and no sound coming out. He needs to reassure Jesse that he won't leave, that he can't, that Sebastian doesn't matter even half as much as him-  
  
And then his phone blares from his bedside table, and he wakes up.

*

"H-Hunter?"  
  
The muffled sound of Rachel's voice drags him to full alertness, and Hunter sits up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face as he presses his phone to his ear and listens closely.  
  
"Rach, what's wrong?"  
  
She sniffs, and then a choked, watery sound leaves her throat, something horrible and broken. Hunter's mind stutters into high gear, the panic settling thick and urgent in his stomach, and he is already stumbling into action, rummaging around in the dark for his shoes and jacket as he repeats, "Rachel, talk to me. What's going on?"  
  
"Hunter," she gasps out, her voice cracking on his name. "It's Jesse."  
  
He is out the door before both syllables of Jesse's name have even left Rachel's mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

Hunter makes it to the hospital in record time. He doesn't know how he manages it—his eyes are unfocused and his mind is a dizzy flurry of thoughts, the only thing that permeates being a chant of  _Jesse, Jesse_ , over and over again. His knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel, and by the time he arrives at the emergency room, his stomach is twisting in somersaults and he feels as if he's going to be sick.

The scent of antiseptic immediately hits his nose as he enters the building. Rachel is huddled in the corner, her small frame curled up on one of the plastic chairs, and she looks up hesitantly when Hunter rushes through the automatic doors. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, a heartbreakingly anxious expression on her face, and Hunter flocks to her side instantly, pulling her forward into his arms. She proceeds to break down for the second time, voice hiccupping on choked sobs as her tears wet the side of Hunter's neck. He simply holds her, running his fingers comfortingly through her hair in an attempt to calm her, but internally, his chest is so tight that it's difficult to breathe.

He has no idea what's happened. All he knows is that Jesse is in the hospital, and something is horribly, horribly wrong, otherwise Rachel would not be a crying mess in his arms right now.

Breathing out a soft  _shushing_  noise, Hunter's grip loosens as the trembling of her thin form gradually lessens, and a few minutes later, he finally pulls back. Brushing away a few stray teardrops from her cheeks, he murmurs, "Rach, what happened?"

"C-car accident," she whispers, and Hunter swears that his heart stops beating.

He tugs Rachel forward again, and they clutch desperately at each other, her head tucked beneath his chin and his arms wound tightly around her back. There is a mutual sense of anguish that radiates between the two of them, and, if it were any other situation, it might even be funny. Jesse is the one thing that he and Rachel ultimately have in common; and Rachel, in turn, is truly the only person who can comprehend anything that Hunter has felt over the past six years. In this moment, in the waiting room of the hospital, they share the same agony, the same terror—the same everything, really. There is no one-sided competition between them, because both of them can only focus on one thing:

Jesse's survival.

The thought of losing him is crippling. Hunter's never even considered the possibility before, too caught up in the endless ache of seeing but not having, of loving but not being loved back. But now that he is being faced with the reality of it, the thought that Jesse might suddenly be  _gone_ , he wants to curl up into a pathetic ball and weep. His heart pangs violently in his chest, and his head swims, just the off-chance that it could happen sending him spiraling down, down, into a fit of despair.

 _This is what Quinn feels like every day_ , he abruptly remembers, and that only makes things worse. How does she handle it? How does she manage with such a—huge, gaping hole in her being, a bleak future of being the ripped half of another whole? It hurts, unlike anything he's felt before, and Hunter digs his fingers a bit more into Rachel's shoulders, forcing himself to bite back the wretched sob that threatens to leave his throat.

They remain crowded together like that for what seems like an eternity. Eventually, Hunter's mind turns blank, his awareness narrowed down to the fierce pain in his chest and Rachel's quiet sniffles against his chest. He is exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and need, the only thing keeping him steady being the slight chance of any news on Jesse.

It finally comes, almost four hours later, as Hunter is rubbing at his eyes tiredly and Rachel holds his opposite hand in a death grip. A young nurse approaches them, her hair tied back loosely and an eerily neutral expression on her face. Hunter's breath hitches as she stops in front of them, both he and Rachel straightening up in their chairs as the woman begins to speak.

"You're here for Jesse St. James?" she asks.

They nod.

"We've finally managed to stabilize him," the nurse explains, and Hunter already wants to cry with relief. His chest loosens immensely, the knots in his stomach unraveling and his head dropping thankfully into his hands. Beside him, Rachel chokes out a quiet  _thank God_  before exhaling an audible breath, and the woman in front of them takes that as her cue to continue. "He's suffered serious head trauma, and his left arm is broken. There was also some internal bleeding in his abdomen, but we managed to stop it just in time. He's a very lucky man."

Vaguely, Hunter realizes that his hands are shaking. He lowers them from his hair and wrings them soundly together in his lap. It is jarring, to hear just how close he'd actually come to _losing_  Jesse- if the ambulance had taken two minutes later to arrive at the scene, or if the doctors had wasted just a few seconds doing something else...

He swallows around the painful lump in his throat.

"Can we see him?" Rachel asks hesitantly.

The nurse tucks her clipboard beneath her arm, responding, "he's still in critical condition, so we can only permit a spouse or immediate family to visit."

Hunter's stomach sinks, and he has to resist the urge to let out a bitter laugh.  _Of fucking course_. Once again, his bond to Jesse has left him sitting on the backburner, craving so much yet receiving so little. He wants to tear his hair out, scream at the top of his lungs, do  _something_ , but he is far too tired.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Go, Rachel," he mutters.

Her hesitant gaze lingers on him for a moment before she whispers, "Hunt—"

"Just go," he says shakily, and she rises to her feet, giving him one last apologetic look that he doesn't bother to react to. His eyes fall shut, and he slumps back in his chair, his palms scrubbing at his jaw in defeat.

Playing second fiddle to Rachel Berry is nothing new to him, after all.

*

"Hunter—"

"I don't want to talk about it," he hisses, and Sebastian's jaw snaps shut, his fingers fiddling tersely with the edge of his sleeve. It's been a week since the accident. Hunter has gone in every day to see Jesse since they began allowing extended visitors, and every time, the sight of him lying alive and smiling weakly in his hospital bed still sends relief flooding through Hunter's system.

But he is utterly drained. Sleep has become even more of a foreign concept over the past few nights, as his thoughts are constantly plagued by Jesse's face and death, always death, and Hunter will startle awake with bile in his throat and a chasm where his heart is supposed to be.

It is slowly growing obvious just how affected he is by the situation. Since he first showed up at  _Hummel & Associates_ on this particular morning, Sebastian has repeatedly been shooting him concerned looks, his mouth turned down and his eyebrows furrowed. Hunter does his best to ignore them, too exhausted to bother with explaining anything, but Sebastian just won't quit, that stupid,  _stupid_  wrinkle in his forehead nagging at Hunter endlessly.

"Maybe it'll help," Sebastian suggests quietly.

Hunter clenches his jaw and stares resolutely at the wall behind Sebastian's head. "It won't," he grunts.

Sebastian falls silent for a long moment, his eyes burning a hole into the side of Hunter's head. Hunter has the abrupt urge to shout at him, to scream obscenities and tell him to fuck off and stop trying to understand because he never, ever will. Hunter is done with people trying to understand him. He is done with the pitying looks, the sympathy, the never-ending ache and the loss that trails along after him and colors everything he does. Three months ago, Sebastian wouldn't have been pressing him for details like this—he would merely be sitting quietly, allowing Hunter to share only when he felt like it, and not pressuring him with hushed words and gentle expressions.

So why is he doing this now?

"Seriously, Sebastian. Drop it," he warns as Sebastian goes to open his mouth, and the man across from him purses his lips, his neck straining visibly. There is a tension between them that's never been there before, and Hunter doesn't like it. He doesn't like it one bit.

But to his surprise, Sebastian listens. He nods his head stiltedly and turns away to the paperwork in front of him, murmuring, "maybe you should just come back next week. I'll let you know if anything happens with the case."

It is an obvious dismissal, and Hunter should be grateful. This is what he's asked for, after all. For some reason, though, he is startled by the words, and he can't help the confusion that flits across his features, a strange sense of uncertainty filling his gut.

Without a word, he rises to his feet and walks out of the office, the glass door snicking shut behind him. He forces himself to keep moving forward, one step, two steps, three, until he is safely hidden behind the elevator doors, where he rests the back of his head against the wall and clenches his eyes shut.

*

"How are you feeling?"

Hunter pauses in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyes falling to Jesse's frame sprawled across the unmade mattress. His broken arm is wrapped tightly in a white cast, and his eyes are closed as he leans back against the headboard. The sound of Hunter's voice has him opening them, however, and he grins weakly as the other man takes a few steps into the room, his voice coming out gruff and lacking in energy.

"I've been better," Jesse mumbles, and Hunter tips his head slightly in acknowledgement. Slowly, he crosses the room to Jesse's bedside, where he folds his arms cautiously over his chest and stares down at his friend in thought. Jesse looks back up at him in slight bewilderment, his eyebrows lifting minutely as he awaits a response.

"...how's Rachel holding up?" Hunter asks finally.

"It's been rough," Jesse replies, his voice soft. "She's—almost as much of a wreck as I am. But we're holding up alright."

It takes every ounce of willpower Hunter has not to wince. But  _it doesn't matter that I've been a mess, too. I never matter_ , he wants to say, but bites the inside of his lip to keep himself in check.

Instead, he murmurs, "don't do that again, okay?"

Jesse laughs quietly, his smile morphing into a small grimace as the action causes him some sort of pain, and he shifts absently on the bed, the fingers of his good hand reaching up to brush a chunk of curls out of his face. Hunter wants so badly to replace that hand with his own, to smooth back Jesse's hair and be the one to take care of him. It's a craving that never leaves him, that's only intensified since the accident, and Hunter has to physically restrain himself from crawling forward and pulling Jesse into his arms.

"How's the case going?" Jesse questions conversationally, after he's readjusted himself to be comfortable once more.

Hunter's face shutters at the thought of Sebastian, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "Still nothing," he states, and Jesse's mouth twists.

"Well, just give it some more time," he reassures, tapping his fingers absently against his thigh. "Sebastian's good at what he does. It'll work out."

Meaningless words. That's all they are, weak encouragements that act as a lame attempt to comfort Hunter and give him something positive to think about. They never work, of course. Hunter smiles a bit wryly, says, "sure they will," and ignores the pleading look that Jesse sends him.

*

When he returns to  _Hummel & Associates_ a few days later, Sebastian is nowhere to be seen. Hunter checks both his office and the conference room before furrowing his brow and making his way down towards Kurt's office, where he knocks carefully at the doorframe and waits for the other man to look up.

Kurt lifts his head and offers Hunter a small smile, saying, "hi, Hunter. I wasn't expecting you."

"I was actually looking for Sebastian. Is he in today?" Hunter asks.

"Oh," Kurt murmurs. His eyes narrow slightly before he adds, "Sebastian actually called in sick this morning. Were you two supposed to meet?"

"I—he didn't tell me he wasn't feeling well," Hunter mumbles, his mouth twisting as he looks down. Shouldn't the other man have called to let him know, or at least...made him aware that he had to cancel? "Sorry for wasting your time," he adds quietly, turning for the door until Kurt's voice stops him.

"Actually..." he muses, waiting for Hunter to peer back over his shoulder and catch his eyes. "I have a question for you."

"A...question?" Hunter repeats hesitantly. Kurt eventually nods his head, and Hunter folds his arms somewhat apprehensively across his chest as the other man takes the time to formulate his words.

"Our annual company-client mixer is coming up," he explains, his hands folding atop his desk. "I was hoping you might like to come. Jesse and Rachel are welcome, too, of course, and you're free to bring that friend of yours—from the wedding? Quinn, was it?"

"I..." Hunter begins to protest, then stops. He really has no valid excuse to turn Kurt down, and besides, how much harm could it do? It is just a party; it isn't like Hunter has a life outside of his shop and his painful attachment to Jesse, anyway.

"We'll be there," he agrees, and Kurt shoots him a genuine smile.

"I'm glad to hear it."

*

"Well, don't you look handsome."

Hunter bristles slightly under the praise and smoothes down the front of his shirt, his fingers playing over the row of buttons on the front. Quinn stands across from him, a small grin on her lips, and she reaches out to carefully adjust the lapels of Hunter's jacket before stepping backwards again and nodding in approval. The last time Hunter had even remotely dressed up was for the wedding-from-hell, and though his ironed button down and gray slacks aren't exactly "formalwear," he still feels out of place in them, and his feet are uncomfortable in his polished dress shoes. It all feels fake, as if he is posing as someone other than his true self, and it's strange, not entirely welcome.

Quinn simply rolls her eyes at his apprehension and slips her arm through his own before leading him inside, murmuring, "relax, Hunter. Why are you so worried about this?"

 _I don't know_ , his mind babbles. The  _Hummel & Associates_ mixer is being held in a small ballroom in a hotel that Hunter can't remember the name of, and as he and Quinn enter the room, he is struck more by the essence of a lower-scale gala than a simple company party. The place is a sea of faces that Hunter has never seen before in his life, and he scans the crowd somewhat anxiously for any sign of Rachel or Jesse, but fails to spot them. He is slightly overwhelmed by the lack of familiarity of it all, even with Quinn hovering close to his side, and a nervous bubble of energy begins to form in his stomach, one that he crushes as quickly as possible.

"Everything's fine," Quinn repeats into his ear before leading him further into the room, smiling and nodding in acknowledgement at the strange faces as they pass. She is carving out a path to an empty table towards the back, her fingers a gentle tug at the inside of Hunter's elbow, when they are suddenly cut off by a tall figure intercepting them in the middle of the crowd. Hunter looks up, and a surge of something unfamiliar washes over him at the sight of Sebastian, his signature smirk on his lips as he halts the two of them mid-step.

"Good evening," he drawls. For Sebastian, his attire hardly differs at all from his everyday work clothing—other than a gray cashmere sweater pulled atop his oxford, he looks the same as usual. Hunter hasn't spoken to him since their stilted conversation over a week ago, and he's still a bit irked about Sebastian being a no-show at the office, but he does his best not to show it, schooling his face into a neutral expression.

"Sebastian," he greets coolly, and Sebastian's shoots him a slanted look before his eyes flit back to Quinn.

"You two make quite the pair," he declares, and the semi-compliment sends something unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant curling through Hunter's stomach. He furiously crushes the sensation as Quinn lets out a soft laugh, her fingers flexing against his arm, and he lifts his gaze to find Sebastian staring at him again, his mouth turned downwards slightly.

"You're not so bad yourself," Quinn replies after a moment, her voice playful, and Hunter jerks his head away to glance pointedly at his feet as Sebastian's attention is drawn away from him once more.

There's never been this...obscurity between them before, and Hunter is struggling to wrap his mind around the situation. Sebastian is acting as if nothing has changed, like there isn't a palpable tension hanging in the air, and it's driving Hunter nearly insane. Sebastian is supposed to be the one unwavering thing in his life, and now he can't even make sense of  _that._

What the hell is happening?

"You're too kind," Sebastian eventually says, the teasing jibe back in his tone as the thoughtful expression slips from his face. Hunter suppresses a huff of irritation, his stomach flipping over itself, and ignores the next few exchanges between Quinn and the man across from them. It's only a few minutes, but it's still too long, and Hunter is growing exceedingly more uncomfortable as the seconds tick by and Sebastian's eyes continue in their attempts to catch his.

When his chest has become so tight that he can't manage it anymore, Hunter mumbles, "I'm going to find something to drink."

He doesn't bother asking if either of them is thirsty as well; instead, he spins on his heel and pushes his way through the crowd towards the refreshment tables on the side, keeping his head down as he goes. His breath is shaky, and he can't define what exactly he's feeling right now. It's bothersome.  _Sebastian_  is bothersome- intruding on Hunter's night and forcing him to make nice, as if everything is just fine and dandy between them-

But in a moment of clarity, Hunter realizes that everything really is...fine. Well, as fine as it can be. Sebastian hasn't done anything wrong, per say, and Hunter is...

Well, he's being petty and irrational, but he boils it down to the strain of the accident and the shop and everything else, and then proceeds to grab himself a glass of champagne and down half of it in one ago.

The drink fizzes in the back of his throat and stings its way up his nose, and he winces before lowering the glass. Everything is just- scattered, right now, as if he is floating through a jumbled mess of pieces that he can't seem to put together. From his spot against the wall, he finally spots Jesse and Rachel across the room, chatting with a group of people that Hunter, of course, doesn't know. He immediately looks away again, his gaze falling to the champagne in his glass as he swirls it around absently and purses his lips.

"Why do I always seem to find you like this?" Kurt's voice sidles in from beside him, and Hunter turns his head to glimpse at him from the corner of his eye. Kurt has his arm wrapped loosely around another man's waist-  _Blaine, his mate_ , Hunter's mind supplies- and an amused smile pulls at his mouth as he arches an eyebrow and peers back at Hunter.

"Life of the party, that's me," he mumbles sarcastically, and Kurt laughs, while the shorter man at his side extracts himself from Kurt's grip and holds out his hand in reintroduction.

"We met at the wedding awhile back, right?" he asks, and Hunter begrudgingly nods, his hand slipping into Blaine's grip.

"Hunter," he offers as a reminder, and Blaine smiles.

"Ah, right- the best man," he remembers.

There is a pang inside of Hunter's chest that he chooses to ignore.

He doesn't respond, but the smile remains on Blaine's face, his arm falling back to his side and his fingers reaching out almost unconsciously to tangle with Kurt's. The closeness between them is so tangible and apparent than Hunter wants to cover his eyes and look away. It's the same reaction he always has when in the presence of a bonded couple- aversion, envy, both mixed in with the tiniest bit of loathing for those who have what he'll never be able to experience. It isn't so bad, most of the time, but tonight, he is already on edge, and seeing the connection between Kurt and Blaine, clear as day, has him stomping down on the urge to run straight out the door and not look back.

The awkward silence that has settled over them finally breaks when a hand falls to Hunter's forearm, and he spins around in surprise to find Quinn, with Sebastian a few feet behind her. "There you are," she exclaims softly, her eyes traveling past him to settle on Kurt and Blaine. "Oh, hi. Kurt and...Blaine, right?"

She moves forward to greet them, and Blaine grins as he shakes her hand, so widely and genuinely that Hunter is surprised his face doesn't split in half. Quinn, though, is instantly taken by him, and they end up in a quiet conversation as Kurt turns back to Hunter and finally acknowledges Sebastian, who has now crossed the remaining distance between himself and the group and is hovering at Hunter's side.

"Sebastian," Kurt declares, and Sebastian's mouth presses into a thin smile.

"Kurt," he responds. Hunter examines the exchange in a morbid sort of fascination, his eyes tracking first to Kurt, then over to his side where Sebastian is standing.

He freezes.

Kurt has already turned away, his palm falling to the dip of Blaine's spine as he steps into the conversation with Quinn and murmurs something in the man's ear. Hunter doesn't miss the way Blaine leans into the simple touch, his enthusiastic grin dimming into something more intimate, but his eyes quickly return to Sebastian, who has the most peculiar expression on his face.

His mouth folds in on itself as he presses his lips together, the usual playful spark in his gaze nowhere to be seen. Instead, it has been replaced by something far-away, almost nostalgic, and Hunter glimpses away again in the direction of Sebastian's own gaze, the pieces slowly beginning to slot into place.

Sebastian's eyes are focused solely on Blaine, tracing the line of his profile as he presses into Kurt's side, and then there is a visible tic in his neck as his throat works forcefully while he swallows. The motion is harsh, stilted, as if it pains him to do such a thing, and Hunter's gaze jumps back up to Sebastian's face in utter shock.

Everything suddenly makes sense.

Hesitantly, Hunter reaches out and curls his fingers in the sleeve of Sebastian's sweater. The younger man finally tears his gaze away from Blaine, his eyes dropping down to Hunter at his side, and a flicker of understanding passes between them before the comprehension dawns on Sebastian's face. He opens his mouth to speak, only closing it again when no words come out. Hunter's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the soft fabric at Sebastian's wrist, and he aches to push the sleeve upwards and check for verification, just to be sure.

But as Sebastian's eyes dart over to their left again for the briefest of moments, it is the only confirmation Hunter needs.


	8. Chapter 8

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hunter asks quietly.

They are outside on the front steps of the hotel, Hunter with his side resting against the railing as Sebastian sits a couple of feet away. The younger man perches on the top step, careless of the fact that his slacks are probably filthy by now. His legs are pulled up loosely, bent at the knees as he folds his arms across the top of them, and his gaze has wandered off to the street in front of them as he tracks the cars that pass by.

It's a bit chilly, and Hunter crosses his arms over his chest in a weak attempt at keeping himself warm. A few moments after his realization back in the ballroom, he had followed Sebastian's retreating back to where they are now, though why, Hunter isn't sure. The silence between them is heavy with the revelations that have been made, and now, they are teetering on the edge of the aftermath, and it isn't entirely comfortable.

"You never asked," Sebastian finally replies, his voice low, and Hunter glances down at him as his mouth pulls into a frown.

"Do they know?"

A harsh laugh escapes Sebastian's throat, and the sound pierces the seemingly calm night around them in such a way that Hunter wants to flinch. "Fuck, no," Sebastian says bitterly, a wry smile suddenly crossing his face. "Do you think I  _want_  to get fired?"

"Sebastian," Hunter mutters helplessly, but the younger man cuts him off.

"Look at me. I've been trying to help you all this time, and meanwhile I can't even follow my own advice," he bites out. Sebastian then scrubs at the side of his face with his palm and shakes his head, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth. " _Fuck_ ," he mumbles.

Hunter doesn't know what to say. He doesn't offer up condolences or reassurances, because he's been in Sebastian's exact position and knows just how meaningless those things really are. It pains him, a bit, to have to stand by and watch Sebastian like this- but then he realizes that this is how everyone else in his life must have felt for the last six-odd years, and his stomach falls in a guilty swoop.

Without a word, he climbs back up the steps and lowers himself onto the edge beside Sebastian, his legs sprawling out in front of him. Neither of them says anything, though Hunter notices out of the corner of his eye the way Sebastian seems to be struggling with something, his lips thinning and his eyes darting almost nervously down to his hands. A car honks somewhere off in the distance, and Sebastian visibly startles, his head jerking up minutely. He appears to make up his mind in that moment, because he is then turning to face Hunter straight-on, his eyes hard and his expression set.

"I've known Blaine since high school," he begins softly. The resignation in his voice has Hunter's chest tightening somewhat. "I-  _fuck_. I was so in love with him. We were close friends, and when we left for college, we still kept in touch. I had been so sure that I'd end up with his name, and he'd end up with mine..."

Sebastian pauses, his throat working as he swallows, before he looks away, his gaze settling on the ground. "And then he woke up with some older guy's name on his wrist. I didn't even know it was possible. I just- I hadn't even entertained the idea. I was so stupid." He spits out the last word with such vehemence that Hunter has to reach out, his fingers curling hesitantly around Sebastian's forearm, but the other man continues as if he hasn't even moved. "Of course, Kurt'd had Blaine's name since his own twenty-first birthday, but he'd waited to contact Blaine, because he's just that much of a gentleman." His tone is sarcastic, and he chuckles self-deprecatingly as he runs his hands across his thighs. "I didn't even get myself this job.  _Blaine_  did. And me, being the pathetic mess that I am, had to follow after him and take it, because even if it hurts like hell to see him with Kurt, it's still better than nothing."

Sebastian's rant finally comes to a close, and Hunter's breath is caught painfully in his throat, his grip on Sebastian's arm never wavering. Sebastian's story is so horribly similar to his own that it's left him speechless. Everything he's been through, Sebastian has done the same, and it nearly kills him to see the broken look on Sebastian's face, because  _this is what he's looked like_.

"Sebastian," he repeats almost inaudibly.

Sebastian finally lifts his head again, and there is so much raw pain in his eyes that Hunter's fingers automatically tighten against his arm. His chest /hurts/, as if the sight of Sebastian is digging right into him and causing a pang to resonance throughout his rib cage, and he's unfocused, confused. He just wants to- reach out, to grasp at Sebastian and...

And what? Comfort him? It's a deluded thought, especially for Hunter to have, and he swallows thickly as he pushes it away. There is nothing that can be done here. Nothing.

Yet, he still finds himself pushing slowly up to his feet and then offering out a hand to help Sebastian up as well, ignoring the man's questioning look. He slips his phone out of his pocket, firing off an apologetic text to Quinn, and then shoves it away again, his eyes catching Sebastian's.

"Come on," he says, and there is no room for argument.

*

They end up back at his apartment. Hunter slides out of his jacket as soon as they walk in the door, depositing it on the kitchen counter and making his way over to the couch, with Sebastian following cautiously behind him.

They sit opposite one other on the couch, Hunter with his legs crossed beneath himself and Sebastian with his feet tapping almost anxiously against the floor. The clock /ticks/ quietly on the wall, the sound filling the room and echoing around them, and Hunter simply watches Sebastian, the way his hands twitch in his lap and his eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit.

"You should have told me," he states at last.

Sebastian side-eyes him, and his expression is unreadable. Hunter gazes right back at him, and the silence returns, thicker this time.

Eventually, Sebastian clears his throat.

"You make it sound easy," he mutters, "but you and I both know it's not."

_But I would have understood,_  Hunter wants to press. However, his mouth remains shut.

"When I met you that first day at the office," Sebastian continues a moment later, his voice softer. "I knew. I wasn't lying when I said that you're easy to read. And then you actually opened up to me...you're strong, Hunter. A lot stronger than you think."

Hunter instantly scoffs, his forehead wrinkling. "People keep saying that. I'm not."

"You are," Sebastian repeats adamantly, and when their eyes lock, Hunter can't look away. "You've put up with so much crap, and I know there are things you haven't told me- I know, and it's okay- but I still think you're brave. I really respect that. And I couldn't just tell you my own story without feeling...inadequate somehow."

Hunter's stomach tenses. Sebastian's words are an understatement- there is  _so much_  that Hunter hasn't told him, so many gory details and repressed memories that Hunter can't talk about. Doesn't think he'll ever be  _able_  to talk about.

He's so far from brave, it isn't even funny.

"You don't know-" he chokes out.

"I don't  _have_  to," Sebastian interjects. There is a determination in his gaze that Hunter's never seem before, something so forceful and unlike the perseverance that Sebastian maintains the rest of the time, that it just about knocks the breath from his lungs.

"It's- it's bad," he whispers finally. Sebastian abruptly reaches out, his fingers grasping at Hunter's arm, and then he is gently pushing up Hunter's sleeve, his thumb ghosting over the outline of Jesse's name on his wrist.

Hunter's eyes clench shut.

"No," Sebastian voices gruffly, his finger pressing down pointedly against the skin. " _This_  is bad. Nothing you've done has been without reason."

It is a striking contrast. The pressure of Sebastian's fingertips sends a warmth up his arm from a spot that has previously only been the source of pain and despair, and Hunter feels his own shoulders begin to tremble slightly. His eyes flutter open, and they are sore, irritated by the pinprick of moisture at the backs of his eyelids, and when he looks over at Sebastian again, the ache has returned to his gut.

The ache to lurch forward, to achieve some form of physical contact- something sturdy and familiar, a comfort he hasn't had before.

And when did that need extend itself from Jesse to Sebastian?

The pad of Sebastian's thumb still rests against his wrist, Hunter's pulse fluttering beneath the light touch, and the two of them simply stare at each other for a long moment. Hunter's stomach has clawed its way up to his throat. The sting in his eyes refuses to recede, and something inside of Sebastian's gaze ultimately cracks, shatters slowly, slowly, until he is pulling Hunter forward.

Hunter's face meets Sebastian's shoulder, and he breathes in a shuddering inhale as he tries to steady himself, his chest feeling as if it has twisted itself inside-out. Sebastian's shirt is crisp against his cheek, and he smells like some brand of cologne that Hunter can't place, spicy and warm and overwhelming. He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his own arms pressed firmly to his sides, allowing Sebastian to clutch at him for the briefest of moments as the confusion swirls unrelentingly in his gut.

"You  _are_  strong, Hunter," Sebastian finally murmurs.

Hunter bites down furiously on his bottom lip as he buries his face more tightly against Sebastian's shoulder, the first few tears beginning to leak out of the corners of his eyes.

"I don't want to be," he whispers back.

*

He awakens a few hours later, alone on his living room couch. A throw blanket has been tossed gently over his form, and his shoes have been pulled off, his sock-clad feet hanging over the edge of the armrest.

The scent of Sebastian's cologne is just noticeable enough if Hunter tucks his nose further into the cushions, and he breathes in deeply before falling back to sleep once more.

*

"Hunter?"

He looks up at the sound of his name, his fork halting in the path it has been tracing through his eggs for the past ten or so minutes. Quinn had showed up a little over an hour ago, completely unphased by his sudden departure the night before, and had insisted on making him breakfast, despite his protests.

But now, as they sit across from each other in the kitchen, Hunter's appetite has all but disappeared. His thoughts keep bouncing back and forth between  _Jesse_  and  _Sebastian_ , and his mind is moving at such an alarming rate that it's difficult to keep up. His silence has obviously even caught Quinn's attention, who eyes him curiously, and he struggles to think of something to tell her in explanation, but comes up utterly blank.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"Are you alright?" Quinn asks softly.

"Fine," Hunter responds, and her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't question him further.

Hunter goes back to stirring the food on his plate.

"Can I ask you something?" he says eventually, and Quinn's head lifts, her nose wrinkling in confusion.

"Of course," she replies.

"Have you-" The question sticks in his throat, and he sucks in a deep breath. "Have you ever tried...with someone else?"

The expression of bewilderment on Quinn's face morphs into one of comprehension, and she carefully sets her fork down, her hands falling to rest primly in her lap. Hunter almost regrets asking the question, and opens his mouth to take it back, his stomach knotting, until she actually speaks.

"No." Quinn's voice is a barely-there whisper, a sadness slipping over her features, and Hunter fights down the urge to reach out and grasp at her hand that is no longer there. "I can't even...imagine it. I couldn't."

Hunter nods stiltedly before looking away. "I'm- sorry," he breathes. "For asking."

"It's fine," Quinn manages, though her voice wavers ever so slightly, indicating that it is most definitely  _not_  fine.

Hunter is such a selfish asshole.

"Let's go do something," he declares a second later, pushing his plate back and moving up to his feet. Quinn's expression maintains a hint of nostalgia, but she smiles weakly up at him and takes the distraction in stride, and a surge of relief washes over Hunter as the moment is brushed aside.

*

A couple of days later, Hunter is hunched over behind the counter in the book shop as the rain falls gently outside. He is slouched down on a stool with a copy of  _Atlas Shrugged_  open in front of him, and there are no customers, the building eerily quiet around him.

It is during these silent moments that he remembers the possibility of him actually losing this place. He does his best to push the thoughts aside and maintain faith in Sebastian's abilities, but sometimes, he can't help it. It's been months with little to no progress, and his hope is beginning to slip, especially as business grows thinner and thinner as the days pass.

Today, the bell over the door has yet to jingle as water droplets pelt the sidewalk outside and Hunter sits with his glasses perched low on his nose. He doesn't wear them very often- they're hideous, for starters, and most of the time he doesn't even need them, his vision close enough to perfect that it only falters when he's particularly tired or has been reading for an extended period of time. For the last hour, though, Ayn Rand's words have seemed to meld together on the pages in front of him, and he'd been forced to put the glasses on if there were any hope of continuing to read while the store remained frighteningly empty.

His head only jerks up when the door finally opens in a burst of wind and rain water, the audible noise of a car whisking by filtering in as a customer enters the shop. Hunter folds his book shut and pushes his glasses up slightly before turning to greet whoever it is, the words dying in his throat as he catches sight of the latest arrival.

"What're you doing here?" he asks in surprise.

Sebastian's mouth curves up at the corners as he walks over to the counter, wiping away a few stray raindrops from his forehead. He is dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a coat, taking Hunter slightly by surprise, as it is the middle of the week and Sebastian is normally at the office in his suit-and-tie ensemble.

"Just came to pay a visit," he responds casually, coming to a stop across from Hunter and tilting his head. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

Hunter curses under his breath and pulls the offending article from his face before rubbing at his eyes. "That's because I don't. Aside from very pressing occasions, that is."

Sebastian's grin widens, and Hunter sighs wearily before resigning himself to the mockery and putting the glasses back on, his gaze finding Sebastian's. It's the first time he's seen the other man since the night of the mixer, and he can admit that he'd been expecting things to be a  _little_  bit strange after their shared confessions.

But Sebastian has, once again, taken him by surprise.

"Don't you have a job?" he questions.

"Don't you?" Sebastian retorts, and Hunter rolls his eyes.

"I'm doing it," he announces, gesturing around him with a wave of his hand. "It's very complicated work, actually."

"Looks like it," Sebastian mumbles playfully.

Hunter scowls at him, and Sebastian merely laughs, his teeth glinting as his mouth tilts upwards and his face lights up. It's such an energetic and  _not_ -Sebastian-like action that Hunter nearly does a double take, his eyes blinking from behind his glasses.

"Okay, really, though," he says finally, leaning forward from his perch on his stool to fold his arms atop the counter. "How'd you manage to get out of the office?"

Sebastian shrugs, responding, "lunch break."

"And you came here," Hunter states dumbly.

"Good observation," Sebastian drawls, one of his eyebrows lifting teasingly. "Maybe you don't need those glasses after all."

"I don't get you."

"There isn't a lot to get," Sebastian replies abruptly, his tone growing far more serious, and Hunter swallows thickly.

"That's not true," he murmurs.

Sebastian stares over at him, his expression settling into something much plainer, more resigned. Hunter watches his features shift, noting the slight twitch in his jaw and the softening of his eyes, and he is suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of Sebastian's arms around him, the warmth of his skin and the soft huff of his breath in Hunter's ear as they clung to each other. He wants to do it again. He wants to feel Sebastian, solid and real against him.

And he has no idea why.

"I should get back," Sebastian eventually mumbles.

Hunter nods jerkily and clears his throat, his eyes falling to his hands as he shakes his head clear of the pestering thoughts. "Sure," he says quietly, twiddling his thumbs together before briefly looking up. "I'll see you Wednesday?"

He tries to keep his voice calm, collected; but he can't keep the lilt of uncertainty from it, the way the statement turns into a question, as if it all depends on Sebastian's answer. He almost hates himself, a little bit, for the surge of relief that washes over him when Sebastian gives a nod of his own, his fingers lifting in a stilted wave before he exits the shop.

Hunter then slumps forward against the counter and lowers his head, his eyes falling to the black ink on his wrist. Jesse's name reflects back at him, yet all Hunter sees in his mind is Sebastian, and he has no fucking idea what's going on anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

They don't meet on Wednesday.

And that's because Sebastian calls him the day before. Hunter picks up the phone only to be met by the harsh sound of Sebastian's breathing, and then a quiet, "I'm sorry" filters through the line, and Hunter immediately knows.

They've lost.

It's been months of court dates and meetings, long talks with Sebastian and phone calls to the government attorneys handling the case. Months of no compromise, of constant nagging on Sebastian's end, trying to get the government to see reason, but to no avail.

Now, he can't even say that he's surprised.

It's over. His shop is gone.

He may have been expecting this. He's been attempting to brace himself for the news for awhile now, just in case, but even the months of preparation don't seem to shield him from the crushing blow. It's like a knife has been taken to his insides, carving a hole and ripping them out until he is left broken and bleeding on the floor. He doesn't have the shop. He doesn't have Jesse.

What the  _fuck_  is he supposed to do now?

It is only after a terrifyingly long moment of silence that he realizes he hasn't responded to Sebastian yet. When he tries to, though, all that comes out is a strangled noise, half-gasped, half-mumbled, as he slumps forward to bury his face in his hands. His phone slips from between his fingers and lands on the kitchen counter beside him, and he can hear Sebastian calling his name again, but he can't find the strength within himself to respond.

His lungs are collapsing in on themselves, and he struggles to take harsh, shallow breaths as a familiar stinging sensation begins to form at the backs of his eyelids. His shoulders start to quake, and he folds his arms over the top of his head to shelter his face from the cruel glare of his empty apartment.

" _No,_ " he croaks, and it is like his twenty-first birthday all over again.

A hoarse sob escapes his lips, and then he is crying into his arms, his chest heaving with the force of every shaky exhale that wrangles its way out of his mouth. The pain is excruciating. His fingers lash out until they come in contact with his cellphone, and he swipes it off of the counter, listening to the sickening  _crack_  it makes as it hits the floor and Sebastian's voice finally cuts out. His body proceeds to sink to the floor in the middle of the kitchen, where he presses his face into his knees and begins to rock back and forth almost pathetically, the fierce ache in his chest spreading outwards until he can't feel much of anything at all.

*

Numb.

That is how he describes the next few hours. The shattered pieces of his cellphone remain strewn across the floor, and he hardly gets out of bed. He doesn't eat. The hollow sensation the hunger leaves in his stomach is a welcome replacement for the sheer  _emptiness_  the rest of his body experiences, and he loses track of the minutes as they pass and his bedroom remains the dark, the apartment painfully quiet around him.

*

Eventually, someone knocks on his door.

Hunter makes no move to answer it. His eyes blink once, unseeing, as they gaze at some indistinguishable point on the wall across from his bed. This is how it has been since he managed to drag himself out of the kitchen after Sebastian's call—body awake but uncomprehending, drifting along as he sinks deeper and deeper into the vacant feeling inside of him.

The knock sounds again. Every part of Hunter's being screams at him to not get up, to leave whoever it is until they go away, but there is still that miniscule voice inside of him that whispers  _it could be Jesse._ A thought that's been quieter, almost absent, for awhile now, but it has suddenly returned and is even louder than before. He wants Jesse. He  _needs_ Jesse.

So he struggles up to his feet (even though the niggling in the back of his mind already knows that it isn't Jesse—there's no way) and makes his way to the front door, hesitantly tugging it open. He feels like complete shit, knows he must look it, as well, and the thought is only confirmed as Sebastian's expression falls the moment the two of them are standing face-to-face.

Hunter tries to shut the door—he does. But Sebastian is too fast, and he is far too exhausted to put up much of a fight. The taller man maneuvers him back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind them, and then they stand there for a long moment, Sebastian's hands grasping gently at Hunter's shoulders.

Keeping his eyes on the floor, Hunter lowers his head and says nothing, his back tensing when Sebastian's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his arms. His own choked breathing feels too harsh for the stillness of the room, and he doesn't even know why Sebastian is here, because—

_This is all his fault._

"You promised," Hunter croaks out suddenly, ripping his body out of Sebastian's grasp. " _You promised."_

He snaps his head up to glance at Sebastian, whose hands have fallen limply to his sides. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pursed, and he looks so fucking  _sorry_  that Hunter can't take it, the defeat and the betrayal coiling so thickly in his stomach that it's as if he's going to burst.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian repeats finally, and it's so soft that Hunter can barely hear him.

"No, you're not!" he yells. Whirling around on his heel, his fingers slide up to clutch at his hair, and he paces away from Sebastian's spot in the middle of the entryway, his footsteps echoing throughout the apartment. "Don't tell me you're sorry! You  _promised_ that you would help me. I told you- I fucking told you that I couldn't lose this shop, and now, you're going to show up here and tell me you're  _sorry?_ "

His voice cracks on the last syllable as he turns back around to stare at Sebastian once more. Hunter's eyes are narrowed, his face red and his eyes wide, frantic. He can't see through the anger, wants nothing more than to smack that pitiful look off Sebastian's face. This isn't supposed to happen. He's supposed to win the case, and keep his store, and things are supposed to keep getting  _better,_ not revert back to this horrible, jumbled mess that his life had been before.

_Before._

"I hate this." His tone abruptly falls, growing weaker, and Hunter bends over to rest his hands on his knees, his eyes clenching shut.  _I hate my life. I hate Jesse. I hate you. I hate everything,_  he is saying, and perhaps he's being melodramatic, or perhaps he's not. But  _fuck_ if he hasn't earned the right to be a bit dramatic right now.

When he finally looks up again, Sebastian's face has shuttered completely. There is not an ounce of emotion on his face, and the apathy sends resignation rushing through every inch of Hunter's body, the numbness washing over him in an unrelenting wave.

"Why did you make me believe in you?" he whispers.

Sebastian's expression suddenly twists, and it's as if he's been punched in the stomach. The pain in his eyes is so palpable that Hunter almost wants to take the question back and apologize.  _Almost._

" _I tried,_ " Sebastian croaks out, his voice somehow still remaining adamant even as the moisture becomes visible against the green of his irises. "I tried so fucking hard for you, Hunter."

"And it wasn't enough," Hunter bites out in reply.  _Nothing's ever enough._

"Don't," Sebastian pleads suddenly, taking a few uncertain steps forward. "Don't be mad at me for this.  _Please._ I did the best that I could, but you haven't lost everything, Hunter. You have—"

He stops, but Hunter can fill in the blanks.

_Me._

That's not who he wants, though.

"It's your fault," he mumbles weakly. "This is all your fault, I shouldn't have thought..."

His voice dies out as a gentle set of hands tugs at his own wrists, and when did Sebastian become so close? His fingertips circle the delicate skin, smoothing over slithering veins and black ink, and Hunter swallows. He hates Sebastian. Hates him with every fiber of his being, because this is  _his fault,_  and now Hunter doesn't have his store, he doesn't have anything...

Except this man, who he claims to hate so much.

The tears that have been threatening at the backs of Hunter's eyelids spill over at last, and he releases a wretched sob, his body curling in on itself and slumping forward.

Sebastian is there to catch him.

And Hunter cries. He cries, the force of his sobs wracking his body and sending trembles down his spine. He clings to Sebastian like a vice, muffles every sound in the man's shoulder and refuses to let go. Sebastian doesn't let go, either; he allows Hunter to clutch at him, clutches right back, his arms enveloping Hunter's slightly smaller frame and tucking him in close.

It's so similar to the other night, yet so  _not_ similar at the same time. Hunter's breath leaves him in shallow gasps, his voice hiccupping as he murmurs Sebastian's name brokenly into the man's chest, and somehow they end up back on the couch, Hunter glued to Sebastian's front. Sebastian still refuses to loosen his hold. His warmth and the firm grip of his hands are comforting yet frightening at the same time, and Hunter just wants to lose himself to the feeling.

So he does.

He falls asleep with his head tucked into the crook of Sebastian's neck.

_*_

_We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected._

*

"You broke your phone," Sebastian murmurs.

Hunter's eyes flutter open. He peers blearily over his shoulder, Sebastian's arm a secure weight around his waist, and shrugs pathetically. He doesn't know how they ended up like this, with his own back shielded by Sebastian's chest, but it is safe and comfortable, and he tucks his nose back in against the man's collar, his eyes slipping shut once more.

"I don't hate you," he mumbles softly, and Sebastian gives him a light squeeze. "I was just—am—angry. But not at you."

"I really did try," Sebastian responds quietly. "I didn't want to let you down."

"I know," Hunter breathes, reaching down and hesitantly resting his hand over Sebastian's own. "But it's okay. I'm used to it."

He touches his thumb carefully to the inside of Sebastian's wrist. The all-too-familiar black ink peeks out from beneath the edge of the man's sleeve, and when Hunter fingers the edge of the fabric in question, Sebastian doesn't stop him. Hunter proceeds to slide the fabric up slowly, his breath hitching as Blaine's name is finally revealed to him, marring Sebastian's skin and labeling him for all to see.

"Sometimes," Sebastian speaks suddenly, and his voice is a low rumble in Hunter's ear, his words quiet. "I just look at it. I try to picture someone else's name there, and I can't even do that, because I'm tied to him so completely. I wish I could change that. I wish I could at least try to be normal, but I'm stuck like this...and it kills me."

The pad of Hunter's finger traces faintly over the outline of Blaine's name, each letter curving and looping as he goes. "I tried, once," he admits softly, keeping his eyes on Sebastian's wrist. "It was at Jesse's bachelor party, no less. A guy had his hand shoved halfway down my pants when I suddenly just  _couldn't_ anymore and ran out of there like I was on fire."

Sebastian huffs quietly, and it's almost a laugh, but not quite. A wry smile appears on Hunter's face, and he finally glances upwards and over his shoulder to find Sebastian watching him curiously. It causes the smile to fall from his lips, his fingers stilling against Sebastian's skin, and he ignores the lump forming in his throat in favor of looking right back.

"I want to kiss you," Sebastian breathes, his eyes darting back and forth between Hunter's eyes and his mouth, "but I  _don't_  at the same time. Does that make any sense?"

Hunter swallows, his throat suddenly far too dry.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I get it."

*

In his dreams, Jesse still taunts him.

"You love me. Only me."

The words slice through Hunter like a knife, but only because he desperately wishes that they  _weren't_  true.

*

Hunter is hanging the large "going out of business" sign in the window of the shop when Quinn arrives.

It's been three days. He knows that's she's probably been worried sick with the lack of contact, but it's hard to feel bad when he's so preoccupied with the devastating loss of one of the only two things he's ever known.

She stands quietly behind him as he places the last piece of tape, and only speaks once he's stepped down off the ladder. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Didn't get the chance," he mumbles.

Her eyes search for his, but he stares past her at a shelf of books behind her head. "Hunter?" she inquires softly.

He meets her gaze for a brief moment and ignores the question there, instead brushing past her and moving towards the back of the shop. "I'm gonna mark everything down to half-price, see if we can get rid of some of this stock. Otherwise, I'm not going to have a place to put it all."

" _Hunter,_ " Quinn repeats, interrupting his ramblings and glancing over at him with a desperate look on her face. "You're not fine. Stop acting like it."

"Maybe I  _am_  fine," he retorts, halting mid-step and spinning back around to narrow his eyes. "Maybe I'm totally fine with the fact that I'm about to lose my job and my entire business. Maybe I'm fine with the fact that I'm in love with someone who won't ever love me back. And I'm even fine with the fact that now, there's  _another_  person on that list who  _I_ can't love because whatever fucking powers-that-be won't let me."

Quinn's mouth falls open silently, then closes again, her lips twisting sadly. Meanwhile, Hunter breathes in deeply and looks away again, his hands falling to the small of his back and resting there as he attempts to calm his suddenly racing heart.

It's true; he is bonded to Jesse, loves him with every last part of his being, but the other part of him, the one that can actually make decisions of its own (or that  _wants_ to) craves Sebastian. Hunter isn't sure when it happened, or how, but the feelings are there, and he can't do anything about them, because the bond will always be there to hold him back.

He  _hates_ it.

Never before has he wanted to be able to cut his ties to Jesse so badly. Perhaps it's even worse because Sebastian is irrevocably connected to someone else as well—and even if both of them tried, they could never make it work, never shake off the two phantom halves that follow them around like dangling limbs.

Hunter clenches his eyes shut and sucks in another rough breath, the air scraping the inside of his throat.

"Hunter," Quinn begs, suddenly, her voice cracking on his name. She is crying, he realizes, and normally, Hunter would be mentally reprimanding himself for once again being the source of her tears.

But now, he doesn't even have the energy.

A beat passes, and Quinn's breaths are audible in the stillness of the shop. Hunter doesn't shift, doesn't blink, not even when Quinn steps towards him, her palm cupping his jaw

"I was scared," Quinn whispers, her fingertips sliding over his cheek. "I was so worried that you'd—I mean, after Jesse—"

" _Jesse."_ The name crackles its way out of his dry throat, and Quinn's breath hitches.

"I'm sorry, Hunter. I'm so sorry," she babbles.

Somehow, Hunter finds it within himself to speak.

"I'm leaving," he mutters, his voice raspy from lack of use. "I can't stay here anymore, Quinn. It hurts too much."

She doesn't try to argue with him. Instead, her forehead comes down to rest against his shoulder, and she wraps her arms around his waist, clinging onto him as if he is the only thing she has left.

Hunter doesn't know where he'll go. He doesn't know when (or even if) he'll come back, and he doesn't know what he's going to do from here on out.

But what he does know is that it has to be done. He can't stay in New York—without the store, there's little reason to, anyway, and maybe some distance between he and Jesse will be a good thing.

He buys a new phone before he goes, gives Quinn his new number and bids her a murmured goodbye. He doesn't bother with Jesse, and he most definitely doesn't bother with Sebastian, even if his mind is screaming at him to do otherwise.

He merely loads up his car, and drives.


	10. Chapter 10

He ends up in San Francisco.

And the entire way there, he feels restrained by that invisible force, the constant push-and-pull of his bond to Jesse trying to keep him back. Somehow, he manages to grit his teeth and force his way past it, though the emptiness inside of him only grows as the distance increases between them.

(He's done caring at this point.)

There is something about being completely out of contact that leaves him feeling utterly liberated—and also painfully lonely. California does little to help him, and he finds nothing of value except the warmer weather and the bliss of an anonymous existence.

Upon stumbling into a small restaurant one afternoon, he manages to score a job bussing tables. It isn't much, but it's something, enough to keep him fed, and the manager even has a room in the back that he can sleep in. Almost twenty-seven, and Hunter is shacked up in the back of a nameless San Francisco diner with nothing but an apron and a backpack full of clothes to his name. Whenever he thinks back to the past six years, he almost starts to laugh, because the difference between where he  _was_ and where he is  _now_ is so drastic, while everything inside of him has remained the same.

The black ink on his wrist becomes permanently hidden by a worn leather wristband, and Hunter prefers it this way.

The only time he speaks to anyone is when a customer happens to approach him, or when his manager is looking for some sort of response. These occurrences are minimal, however, and Hunter gradually becomes used to his own silence. It is comforting, in a sick and delirious way.

He spends most of his free time by the water, gazing out at the Pacific ocean as the waves tumble across the rocks and the bay lies spread out before him, an endless expanse of blue. There is a particular spot outside of the city where he often goes to sit and just  _be,_ perching himself upon a rock and closing his eyes to breathe in the fresh air surrounding him.

His existence has slowly but surely become an insignificant one, even more so than when he was still crawling along with his arms and legs bound behind Jesse. The hole in his chest and the memories remain, but the physical desperation does not. He learns to cope with the tug inside of him, just as he has learned to cope with everything else.

Hunter has turned avoidance into an art. He has perfected the ability to see but be unseen, to run away and disguise himself from everything else. Sometimes, an image of Nick, or Jeff, or Quinn, or even Sebastian will arise in his mind, and he will find himself wondering how they are doing. Whether they miss him, or if they've been searching for him at all.

And he hopes, for both their sake and his own, that they haven't.

He does call Quinn, once. She is the only person who has his new number, and he feels obligated to attempt some sort of contact, however minimal. Their conversation is short and stilted, Quinn's words suggesting that all the things she wants to say are the things that Hunter doesn't want to hear, and he hangs up feeling even lonelier before. He wonders if running away really was the right decision to make, after all.

He turns twenty-seven, then twenty eight. They've put him on the night shift today, now that he's been upgraded from bus boy to actual waiter, and it is nearly midnight when his only customer walks in, taking a seat at the counter.

His hair is a bottle-dyed blonde, thick arms wrapped in a plain flannel shirt, and he slumps forward as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Hunter silently pours him a mug of coffee and slides it across the counter in offering. He recognizes that look all too well.

"Who is it?" he asks simply.

He doesn't usually strike up conversation, anymore, but for this man, he thinks he can make an exception.

The stranger lifts his head and eyes Hunter wearily. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his cheekbones are gaunt, the lines of them contrasting starkly with the light shade of his skin.

"Her name's Brittany," the man finally replies, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes and glancing back down at his lap. Hunter rolls back his own sleeve and extends his arm, pushing the leather band further up his wrist until the black lettering shows.

"It doesn't get any better," he says, and the man's eyes dart from his wrist, to his neutral expression, and then back to his wrist again. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it doesn't."

The stranger's eyes narrow as they come to settle on Hunter's face once more, and then he is leaning forward to fold his arms across the counter, the tense lines around his mouth slowly settling into something more relaxed.

"I'm Sam," he offers, and Hunter nods his own head in greeting.

"Hunter," he replies, before passing the man a menu. "What can I get for you?"

*

A few months later, Hunter hangs up his apron and packs up his meager belongings before he and Sam are on their way to New York.

Sam wants a change, and Hunter has realized that he's tired of searching for one himself. If he is going to be stuck like this, he'd rather be stuck around the things that he knows.

His old apartment has long since been emptied. He doesn't know what they've done with his furniture, or his other belongings, but he doesn't really care. He has a stop to make, anyway, and he has Sam drop him off in front of Bella's Café with the request that he return in around an hour.

Sam nods, wishes him luck, and Hunter runs his fingers over his now short-clipped hair before making his way inside.

It's a slim chance, hoping that Quinn will still be around after years of no news on his whereabouts. She could be working elsewhere or even gone from the city, for all he knows. But something in his gut tells him that it's worth a shot, anyway, and the second the aroma of coffee hits his nose, he knows he's made the right choice.

And maybe it's not Quinn that he comes across, but it's still someone he owes an explanation to, and Hunter finds himself crossing the shop and dropping into the empty chair at the person's table without even thinking about it.

Sebastian's head lifts, and he seems to recognize Hunter instantly, his eyes widening and his back straightening up in his seat. There is a book open in front of him, something that Hunter can't make out the title to. The sight sends something a lot like nostalgia through him, as he remembers discussion about Sebastian's distinct  _lack_  of interest in reading from early on.

Apparently, that's changed.

He is dressed casually in a plain button down and a pair of jeans. His hair is longer, no gel in sight, and he looks so  _un_ lawyer-like that Hunter finds himself in a bit of a shock. The sight of Sebastian has brought back such a rush of emotion that he is suddenly speechless, and all he can do is stare. He is different, yet still so unfalteringly  _Sebastian_ that Hunter's chest aches.

"Hunter," Sebastian mumbles. His tone is colored with disbelief, and his head tips to the side thoughtfully as he eyes Hunter in a curious manner. His gaze travels from Hunter's face, to his hair, to the rest of his body, and Hunter knows that he has changed, is much thinner and more plain-looking, now, but there is no sign of disgust on Sebastian's face. Only surprise, with a hint of guilt, and Hunter leans forward after awhile, his hands folding across the table in front of him.

"I never said thank you," he states, holding Sebastian's gaze. "For trying."

"I thought you skipped town," Sebastian says in response.

"I did. For awhile. But we all knew I'd have to come back eventually."

Sebastian's mouth tips up almost ruefully, and he shakes his head. "Where did you go?"

"California. I had to get away," Hunter replies, his voice softer, and Sebastian's look is one of genuine remorse.

"I really am sorry, you know," he mutters, closing his book and sliding it out of the way.

And maybe this is a sign, Hunter thinks. Maybe there's a reason that Sebastian has been the first person he's run into, despite Hunter's intentions being otherwise. Maybe he's spent all this time running away from things that he should have been running towards.

It's been almost two years, but Sebastian still makes him feel  _something._ Not everything, like Jesse, but...something.

"Me, too," Hunter says quietly.

Sebastian is silent for a long moment, though his eyes never stray from Hunter's face.

"You're not going to leave again, are you?" he asks carefully.

Hunter's smile is small, and he slowly shakes his head. "Turns out running away didn't do me much good, after all."

*

When Sam returns a little while later, Hunter and Sebastian are still talking. Sebastian has been telling him about the firm, a few particularly interesting cases he's dealt with and the antics of his co-workers. He mentions Kurt (and Blaine) only sparingly, and Hunter in turn describes California, talks about the aimless months of  _nothing_ that he'd accomplished.

It feels good. Normal, to be sitting and having a conversation like this with Sebastian, even after all this time. Hunter recognizes in a brief moment of clarity that he's missed the other man, possibly more than he'd like to admit. Despite his certainty that nothing could ever come from this  _thing_  between them, he still hangs onto it, returns the weighted looks that Sebastian gives him every few moments.

A shadow eventually falls over their table, and Hunter glances away from Sebastian to find Sam watching the two of them curiously.

"I can come back later," he offers, and Hunter moves to open his mouth, but Sebastian beats him to it.

"No problem. I should probably get going anyway," he announces, moving up to his feet and rolling his shoulders to loosen the knots there. He doesn't introduce himself, and Sam doesn't, either, but he does turn back to Hunter, one eyebrow arched in question.

Sam mumbles something about waiting in the car and rushes out of the shop.

"I met him in California. We're friends," Hunter explains, though he isn't sure why.

Sebastian nods minutely, and Hunter stands and steps towards him, pulling his phone out of his pocket in offering. Sebastian inclines his head in acceptance, taking the device and carefully inputting his number before having Hunter do the same with his own phone. They stand across from each other for another minute, quietly assessing, until Sebastian reaches out and gently touches his wrist, giving it a light squeeze. It is a fleeting gesture, but Hunter feels it down to his toes, and he ignores the way his stomach twists as Sebastian's hand drops back to his side.

"I'm glad you're back, Hunt," he murmurs.

_Hunt._

The nickname is such a contrast from when it leaves Jesse's mouth. Sebastian's tone is honest, hopeful, something fond and genuine that makes Hunter ache. He doesn't want to think about Jesse right now, but he can't help it. It's unfair. Two years, and he still can't do anything without the thought of his best friend shimmering in the corners of his mind.

He exhales a long breath and nods at last, his fingers shakily tucking his phone back into his pocket. He just wants to  _want_  Sebastian. Is that really so much to ask?

"I'll call you, okay?" he offers meekly. It sounds like a lie, but it really  _isn't,_  and he can only hope that Sebastian understands.

And he does.

"See you soon," he replies quietly, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards. Hunter smiles back.

*

He decides to try  _Hummel & Associates _the next day. The building looks no different than it did two years ago. Hunter doesn't bother with calling and dealing with formalities, and merely takes the elevator up to the tenth floor and approaches the front desk with an anxious lilt to his step. The secretary is different, as he'd been expecting, but still, the woman smiles up at him and asks how she can help him.

"I'm actually looking for Mr. Hummel," he explains, and she turns away with a soft  _one moment, please,_  before picking up the phone.

"Can I get your name?" she asks him, and Hunter inhales a deep breath.

"Hunter Clarington," he murmurs.

The secretary speaks quietly into the phone for a brief moment, and Hunter hears her utter his name, before another beat passes and she hangs up. Her eyes find his again, and she points to her left, down the hall towards Kurt's office.

"He said you can head right in," she declares.

It is déjà vu, making his way past the line of glass doors on his way to Kurt's office. His stomach is twisted up in knots, because he knows he is just moments away from discovering Jesse and Rachel's whereabouts ( _Jesse,_  his mind repeats in a whisper), but he does his best to shove the nerves away.

Things are different now. It's been years. That has to mean something, doesn't it?

His raises his fist to knock hesitantly against the doorframe, and Kurt looks up from the paperwork in front of him.

"You're alive," he announces, and Hunter can't help it.

He laughs.

"Indeed," he echoes, taking a step into the room. The office looks exactly the same—white walls, Kurt's mahogany desk situated in the corner—and it soothes his nerves somewhat, to be in a place of slight familiarity.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Kurt asks eventually, gesturing to the empty chair across from him, and Hunter carefully takes his seat.

"I just wanted to say hello," he begins, smoothing his hands over his thighs. "And I wanted to ask about Rachel, actually."

Kurt's brows furrow as he levels Hunter with an imploring gaze before questioning, "do they know you're back?"

"No," Hunter answers honestly, "but I owe them an explanation, and you're the only one who can tell me where to find them."

He waits patiently as Kurt continues to stare at him, his eyes searching. Though Hunter isn't exactly sure what Kurt is searching  _for_ —a sign that he has an ulterior motive, maybe?

Eventually, Kurt drops his gaze and reaches for a post-it note, where he scribbles down an address that Hunter doesn't recognize. "Their new apartment," he explains, passing the slip of paper to Hunter, who nods gratefully. "I feel like I should wish you luck, so...good luck, yeah? And try to stay in touch this time."

"I'll do my best," Hunter agrees.

*

He borrows the car again and leaves Sam back at the hotel in order to head out to Jesse and Rachel's the following morning. Their new building is only a few blocks away from their old one, but Hunter can already tell from the outside that it is much larger, newer. The apartment number Kurt has given him is on the fourth floor, and Hunter makes his way up with a twisting in his stomach and a lump in his throat, a tingling sensation beginning in his fingers as his entire being senses the closing of distance between himself and Jesse.

And then, Hunter is actually seeing him.

The door swings open, and Jesse appears, his hair curling behind his ears as one arm folds across his chest. The moment he sees Hunter, his arms both fall slack at his sides, however, and Hunter can't form words, can't even  _breathe,_ because the relief that spirals through him is so overwhelming that he's nearly knocked over from the force of it.

Seeing Jesse in person feels like coming  _home,_  and Hunter hates it, but the feeling is there nonetheless.

"Hi," he breathes out, after an awkward moment of the two of them simply staring at each other has passed. Jesse suddenly blinks, and then Hunter is being reeled forward by a strong pair of arms, his face smashed up against Jesse's shoulder and his arms trapped against the man's chest.

He struggles not to sink into Jesse's warmth, tries to stomp down on the sudden urge burst into tears that comes from the length of Jesse's body being pressed against his own. Still, he allows his eyes to close and manages to slip his hands out from between them, grasping carefully at Jesse's side and hugging him back just as forcefully.

"You fucking  _asshole,_ " Jesse chokes out, and they finally separate as he takes a step back. His eyes are wet, but he is smiling, and Hunter can't resist the reflex to smile back, though his eyes are apologetic. Jesse grasps at his shoulders and examines the length of him, a laugh of incredulity leaving his mouth.

"I can't believe you're back," he says finally, and Hunter shrugs meekly, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"I just needed some time," he mumbles.

Jesse shakes his head, but his smile is still in place, so Hunter decides that his friend can't be too pissed off at him. He slowly enters the apartment once Jesse gestures him inside, and his eyes absently scan about the room before the sound of Jesse clearing his throat recaptures his attention.

"You still have a ton of explaining to do," he announces, and Hunter smiles weakly before nodding in agreement.

"I know," he replies. The sound of scuffling suddenly filters in from down the hall, and Jesse calls out Rachel's name. A moment later, she appears in the living room, and Hunter moves to say hello, until he notices the tiny figure that is propped up against Rachel's hip.

"Hunter?" she breathes in shock, but Hunter is focused on the toddler in Rachel's arms, with its head full of brown hair and its striking blue eyes. The resemblance it has to Jesse causes Hunter's breath to catch in his throat.

"Oh," he whispers, finally stepping forward and offering a shaky smile to Rachel before turning to the child in her arms. "Who's this?"

"This is little Miss Amelia St. James," Jesse responds, making his way to Rachel's side and glancing uncertainly between her and Hunter. Hunter bends down slightly, catching the little girl's eyes and giving her a tiny wave. She immediately smiles and reaches out, latching onto Hunter's hand, and something pangs inside of his chest, his mouth running dry.

"She's beautiful," he whispers. Amelia tugs at his hand again, then looks up at Rachel, her blue eyes imploring.

"Who?" she babbles, and Rachel grins, reaching up with one hand to playfully tug at her daughter's nose.

"This is Uncle Hunter," she introduces, and Amelia turns back to him, her tiny grin lighting up her face once more.

"'unter!" she squeaks. A laugh escapes Hunter's throat, and it comes out choked and watery. Standing together in front of him, Jesse, Rachel, and Amelia make the picture-perfect family, and it still hurts to look at. It's painful and heartbreaking, but at the same time, Jesse is  _happy._  Hunter inhales a shuddering breath and reminds himself of this, and it's like the pain lulls into a dull ache, something almost manageable.

He's here. He's back in New York, with his best friend. And maybe that's all Jesse will ever be, but Hunter can't let their bond define him anymore.

It's time for the bond to stop controlling him, and for him to start controlling  _it._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter might contain a few things that could be slightly triggering. It's not very detailed, but it is there.

 

Hunter spends the rest of the day at Jesse and Rachel's, sitting on the floor with Amelia teetering around in front of him and listening as Rachel discusses work and everything else. Little Amelia is unsteady on her feet, wobbling to and fro by half-crawling, half-grasping at objects as they pass, and the sight is adorable. Hunter's cheeks ache from smiling so much, and he is smitten with the near two-year-old right from the get go, cooing at her and twisting his face just to make her giggle. Later, Jesse asks him about his time away, and Hunter recounts his days in California, describing the diner and his new friendship with Sam. The entire exchange is so completely  _normal_  that Hunter wants to wrap himself up in the moment and bask in it. This is how he and Jesse should have been all this time- best friends, with nothing else in between them to worry about.

Eventually, as the sky outside begins to darken and Amelia starts yawning and nuzzling her face into his shoulder, Hunter decides that it's time to go. Before he leaves, however, he asks Rachel is she's heard from Quinn at all, and is pleasantly surprised by her response.

"She's teaching over at Brookside, on fourth street," Rachel explains, scribbling down a phone number onto an old receipt and handing it to him. "First graders, I think. She'll be so happy to see you."

Hunter shrugs and fingers the slip of paper absentmindedly before mumbling, "I hope so. It was really good to catch up with you guys."

Rachel smiles warmly, only glancing away when Jesse walks into the kitchen with a dozing Amelia in his arms, her head tucked into his neck. Hunter follows her gaze, and he can't help the fond grin that appears on his face. This is Jesse, after all; but Hunter no longer feels like an intruder, an obstacle. He's just...Hunter. Jesse's best friend.

It's freeing.

"Call us, okay?" Jesse says quietly, and Hunter nods.

"Of course," he agrees, his eyes dropping to the sleeping figure in Jesse's arms. "I have to come visit Amelia, don't I?"

Rachel's hand darts out, and she squeezes his arm gently. Hunter turns back to her, meeting her gaze. "You're always welcome here. Don't forget that."

Her eyes are filled with honesty, her tone utterly genuine, and Hunter swallows thickly before draping his arm around Rachel's shoulders and pulling her in, giving her a small, sideways hug. "Thanks, Rach," he murmurs, willing his voice not to break. When he pulls away again, Jesse is watching him closely, and it has Hunter's stomach twisting.

Maybe he's finally found a way to fit into his best friend's life, after all.

*

"How did it go?" Sam asks him that night, as they both are reclined back on their respective beds in the motel room. Hunter looks up from his copy of  _The Great Gatsby_  (the one Jesse bought him for his nineteenth birthday, and that he's towed around ever since) and meets Sam's curious gaze from across the room. It isn't a difficult question, yet Hunter finds himself taking a moment to form the proper response, the words seeming to fail him.

"Remember how I told you that it doesn't get any better?" he inquires finally, removing his glasses from his nose and setting them on the bedside table. Sam's eyebrows furrow, but he nods slowly, and Hunter takes that as his cue to continue.

"I was wrong."

*

Hunter arrives at Brookside Elementary around lunchtime, just as the bell is ringing and the hoards of children come rushing out onto the blacktop. He has his visitor's pass hanging from around his neck, and leans casually against the side of the main building, waiting as the kids finally begin to disperse and Quinn emerges from inside, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears and a small child tugging eagerly at her arm. She is laughing at something the child is saying, her face lighting up, and Hunter is hit with a sudden burst of nostalgia, his chest aching.

Straightening up from his spot off to the side, he slowly makes his way across the blacktop to where Quinn is now standing, watching as the students run past her around the playground. She doesn't spot him until he is only a few feet away, and the moment she does, the smile falls from her face. Her features shift, her hand rising to cover her mouth, and her eyes grow wide, the disbelief evident.

She says nothing. Hunter finally comes to a stop before her, his hands tucked into his pockets, and he gives her a moment to adjust to the sight of him before speaking. "Long time no see."

Her hand falls back to her side, but she continues to gape at him, her eyes scanning over his appearance. A long moment later, she replies weakly, "you're back?"

"I am," Hunter declares. With a hand, he gestures to their surroundings and adds, "but I see my departure did you some good, anyway."

"You're different," Quinn interrupts. "You're...happy. What happened?"

Hunter darts a short glance around them, and, after concluding that there aren't any children in the general vicinity, says, "I finally figured all of my shit out."

A choked sound escapes Quinn's throat, and then she is rushing forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and tugging him down. "I'm so glad," she whispers, and Hunter hugs her back just as fiercely, his face pressed into her hair. The embrace doesn't last any longer than a few seconds, but it still feels just as monumental as hugging Jesse had, and Hunter counts that as something monumental in and of itself.

"So you aren't mad at me?" he asks as they separate, and Quinn laughs hoarsely before wiping at her eyes.

"Oh, I am," she corrects him, "but I can't hit you in front of young children. That'll have to wait."

*

He and Sam find an apartment a few blocks over from Jesse and Rachel's and move in almost immediately. The rent is cheap, but the place is clean, and not to mention convenient. Hunter can easily walk over to visit Amelia, and Quinn is just a subway ride away, a few minutes uptown in a different district.

Things are finally,  _finally_  settling into place.

His first phone call to Nick and Jeff is no exception. They yell at him for the first couple of minutes, but then Nick's voice grows softer and he mumbles,  _you're such an idiot, we've missed you, Hunter,_ and all is well again. Hunter agrees to come out and visit them sometime in the upcoming months, and then listens as Jeff rants about the puppy that Nick  _finally_ bought him about a year ago ( _he's the cutest, wait till you see him!_ ). It's easy and familiar, and Hunter can't believe that he's wasted so much time away from these people who obviously care for him.

He's beginning to realize more and more with each passing day that the only one who had been posing any obstacle in the first place was himself.

Sam fits into life in New York just as seamlessly, and he becomes quite fond of Quinn rather quickly. ( _It's nothing,_  Quinn will say, but her cheeks will flush and she will smile in a way that's previously only been reserved for better memories of Finn. Hunter is just happy that he isn't the only one whose life seems to be improving.)

There still, however, remains one loose variable that Hunter has yet to deal with: Sebastian.

They've spoken a few times since their first meeting in the cafe, but the conversation has been casual and minimal. Sebastian often sounds distracted, and Hunter decides not to press, knows that just because things are looking up for him doesn't mean the same for Sebastian.

But, in all honesty, now that he has a better idea of who he is  _without_  Jesse, Hunter has realized that he wants to figure out who he could be with Sebastian instead.

It's a terrifying thought. Perhaps he's still hesitant because, no matter what, Jesse will always have that physical mark on him, just as Blaine will on Sebastian- it's as if that last, minute factor is holding him back. He wishes it were simpler, wishes he could just wash away the ink on his wrist and be done with it forever. But life doesn't work that way, and Hunter can't go into things with Sebastian half-heartedly. He just  _can't._

"You're being stupid," Sam tells him one afternoon. "I saw the way you guys were looking at each other, and sure, you aren't soulmates, but maybe what you have will be enough."

Hunter pauses with his hands in the sink, the plate and sponge he's been washing with falling slack. Sam's words strike something inside of him, and it's- he can't describe it. It's  _true_. He hates to be hopeful, and put faith into something that isn't even sure (especially after everything), but for some reason, there is a part of him that keeps nagging and saying that Sebastian could be worth the risk.

But is he worth the risk to Sebastian?

He still hasn't told the other man everything, especially about the occurrences from the first year after he found Jesse's name on his wrist. It's a part of his past that he isn't proud of, and it still haunts him, sometimes, eats away at his insides and leaves a phantom ache in his stomach. They don't talk about it, not he and Jesse, nor Nick, nor Quinn.

Could Sebastian be the exception?

(The answer, of course, is yes; he knows it in his gut, just like he's come to recognize that Sebastian has been the exception from the very beginning.)

*

It's a Thursday morning when Hunter runs into Blaine.

He is at the nearest grocery store, picking up a few things for the barren refrigerator back at the apartment he shares with Sam. He's busy debating internally over whether he should buy regular Kellogs corn flakes or the generic store brand when someone calls his name from down the aisle, and Hunter looks up, his eyebrows furrowing.

Blaine approaches him with his signature blinding grin, and Hunter recognizes him almost immediately. His hair is a bit longer, curlier than the last time Hunter had seen him, but other than that, he's hardly changed in the past three years. His eyes are still the same warm, honey-brown, and Kurt's name still displays itself proudly from the inside of his wrist, sending something akin to discomfort through Hunter as he remembers  _Sebastian._

"Hey," Hunter greets quietly, shifting the basket in his hands to the opposite arm. "Blaine. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, yeah, it has," Blaine comments idly, offering him another kind smile. "How are you? Kurt was saying that you just got back to town."

"A few months ago," Hunter explains, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. "I was in California for awhile. Needed a change of scenery and all of that."

Blaine laughs, the sound soft and melodic. Hunter can see why Sebastian had been in so deep for this man, even before—he radiates kindness and affection in a way that Hunter's never seen before. His likability is apparent, though they've only met a handful of times.

Hunter realizes that, in this regard, Blaine is a lot like Jesse.

"Well, I'm sure you're glad to be back," Blaine replies finally. "I just saw you and thought I'd come say hello. I have to get going, but you should keep in touch, okay? Kurt's talked about you a bit, and you seem like a good guy."

Hunter manages a tiny smile, and it's genuine, despite the part of him that keeps whispering  _Sebastian, this is the person who's made things so difficult for him._  He waves goodbye as Blaine heads back up the aisle, and then fetches his phone from his pocket, already scrolling through his contacts and selecting a name without even thinking about it.

"Hello?" Sebastian answers a minute later.

"Hey," Hunter says softly, and the sound of rustling filters in from the other end of the line before Sebastian speaks again.

"Hunter, hi," he murmurs. There is a hint of surprise in his tone, as if he hadn't expected Hunter to call, but there is also a bit of...relief? (Hunter tries not to think about it too much.) "Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," Hunter answers honestly. There is a moment of silence, and Hunter stares nervously at the rows of cereal boxes in front of him as he awaits Sebastian's reply.

"Can you come to the office?" Sebastian asks, a beat later, and his voice has suddenly changed, gone much quieter. There is more rustling from his end, and then he clears his throat. "I—It'd be nice to talk. If you aren't busy."

"Oh," Hunter breathes, swallowing down the concern that bubbles inside of him. "Okay. I'll—I can be there in about a half hour. Does that work?"

"Yeah," Sebastian whispers. The dial tone  _clicks_  as he hangs up.

*

Hunter pauses in front of the secretary's desk at  _Hummel & Associates,_ but she waves him through, saying something about Sebastian being in the conference room. He proceeds down the hall at an anxious pace, the uncertainty growing with each step he takes, and he has to stop for a moment just outside the door to take a deep breath.

_Everything's fine,_  he tells himself, then pushes the door open.

Sebastian's head lifts as he enters. The man is hunched over in his seat at the head of the empty mahogany table, his hands running over the top of his head and down to the back of his neck in a tired gesture. His eyes are red-rimmed, the dark circles beneath them contrasting starkly with Sebastian's normally smoothed-over features, and Hunter's stomach drops to his feet. He quietly shuts the door behind himself and steps further into the room, his gaze never leaving the man across from him.

"What happened?" he questions carefully.

Sebastian abruptly laughs, and the sound is harsh, scraping against the inside of his throat. Hunter hates the self-deprecating expression on the other man's face, wants to wipe it away and make things better, somehow, but he doesn't even know what's going  _on._

A moment later, Sebastian's laughter dies off, but the wry smile on his face still remains. He runs his hands over his face again, then states, "Kurt knows."

_No._

Hunter's breath hitches. "How?" he asks hollowly.

Sebastian snorts, and the sound is ugly, grating. "It's stupid, really. I'm in his office, handing over some files he wanted to look over, and I remember that my sleeve cuffs are undone. I look down at my exposed wrist, and naturally, Kurt follows my eyes," he explains. His tone is utterly vacant. "I'm about to snatch my hand back, but he stops me. Grabs onto my wrist and turns it over. Stares at the name. And that's that."

This is not supposed to be happening. Of the two of them,  _Sebastian_  has always been the strong one—he's the one who has managed to maintain some sort of grip on this bond nonsense, who doesn't let it affect him and ignores it effortlessly. He's always been the one to comfort  _Hunter,_  not the other way around. And now, their roles are reversed; Hunter is the one who is dealing, while Sebastian is suddenly struggling.

Hunter doesn't know what to do.

He takes a step forward, only to halt again. Sebastian isn't looking at him; instead, he stares down at his hands, flexing his fingers out in front of him in an absent gesture. The tension in his shoulders is obvious—it's something Hunter has seen before. In Quinn, in Sam. In himself. Abruptly, he is struck with a reminder that he and Sebastian are eerily similar. They always have been.

The thought gives him the strength to move forward again until he has reached Sebastian's side. His palm drops onto the other man's shoulder, and Sebastian finally looks back up, his expression scarily neutral.

Hunter's fingers curl against the fabric of Sebastian's shirt. "Let me help you _,_ " he insists quietly.

"How?" Sebastian demands, his voice hoarse. "How could you possibly help?"

He squeezes Sebastian's shoulder gently. "Just like you managed to help me."

*

They've been here before.

Except this time, they are on Sebastian's couch. It is mid-afternoon, and Hunter had nearly forced Sebastian out of the office, forcing him to lead the way back to his place and only relenting once they were safely behind closed doors.

Now, Hunter sits across from Sebastian, his arms outstretched as he cradles the man's hands between his own. Neither of them has spoken, yet, but they don't need to; the silence is gentle, comforting, and all Hunter can do is be there. The rest is up to Sebastian.

The minutes drag by, and Hunter's thumb has taken up residence against the inside of Sebastian's wrist. He covers up the sight of Blaine's name with his finger, erasing the black ink from sight in a thoughtless motion.

"Will you tell me?" Sebastian eventually asks.

His voice is hesitant, the question vague, but Hunter immediately knows what he is referring to. A shaky inhale draws into his lungs, and he shuts his eyes. The thoughts slowly begin to slip loose, one by one, each sending a bolt of pain through him, hot and shameful.

But he needs to do this. He can do it for Sebastian.

"I wasn't coping," he begins, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Those first few months—I was so lost. Angry. I didn't know what to do with myself. Jesse was completely ignoring me, and I just hated him so much. I hated myself," he murmurs. The words rattle their way out of his throat, and he forces himself to continue. "I started to drink...a lot. Things got messy. I don't think there was ever a moment that I was completely sober. I was fucked out of my mind ninety-nine percent of the time. I didn't know Quinn, back then, and Nick and Jeff were in Chicago. I was so lonely and so, so...empty."

Hunter pauses again and takes a sharp breath, his fingers clenching around Sebastian's where they rest in between them. The vacancy is still there, sometimes—he remembers the utter desolation, the despair that consumed every inch of him. He remembers feeling completely detached, like he'd lost all purpose to even...exist. "The alcohol—it's a depressant, you know? And I was already so down, that it just...made things worse. I didn't see any reason to try anymore. So I..."

The rest of the sentence gets stuck in his throat. It's as if he is choking on the words, his breath lodged somewhere in the depths of his chest, and he can't do it anymore. Sebastian seems to understand, almost instantly—he releases a quiet sound, whispers,  _Hunter_ , but Hunter has to finish, he can't—he owes this to Sebastian.

"I took some pills. And when that didn't work, I thought—if I could just get rid of his name. Everything would be fine," he says shakily. "I tried to cut it off. I just—hacked at it. I was drunk. I was  _always_ drunk, so of course I was—and then the blood—"

He hiccups quietly, the tears pooling against his eyelids. "I think the worst part was when I woke up in the ER a few hours later, and it was like nothing had happened. The skin just...it all grew back. As if I'd never even done it in the first place. There isn't even a scar."

Hunter's chin drops to his chest, and he glances out at his wrist, at the black ink and the way Sebastian's fingers have frozen against Jesse's name. He doesn't miss the significance of the moment—how Sebastian is saying  _I'm sorry_ and  _thank you_ and  _you're so strong,_  all rolled into one. He doesn't even have to look into his eyes understand it.

But then, there's never been a question of them being able to understand each other—no, the question has always been whether they  _wanted_ to. If that understanding would ever mean anything else at all.

And in this moment, it does.

"For the longest time, I was so sure that I would never be completely fine again," Hunter murmurs a long moment later. He cautiously raises his head, finding Sebastian's eyes, and his mouth runs dry. "I've always thought that the bond would be this huge burden on me for the rest of my life. I'd never be  _happy._  But...that isn't the case anymore."

He lowers his eyes again, glimpsing at their joined hands. His fingers tangle their way between Sebastian's own, and then he squeezes, ever so gently. "I just needed the time to figure things out, first."

Maybe he's jumping a bit ahead of himself—maybe he's completely misread the situation, and maybe this isn't what Sebastian wants at all. But Hunter is tired of feeling guilty. He's tired of holding back and being told that he can't have this, because he's  _past_ that by now. Jesse is happy. That doesn't mean Hunter can't be happy, too.

It's a concept that hadn't even seemed plausible to him up until a few months ago. He's heard so much, and  _seen_ so much, that's made him think that a bond is forever. It is unbreakable, impossible to ignore. A soulmate means eternity, and the name on his wrist will never fade, nor will the feelings. But somehow, Hunter has proven all of this wrong, because Sebastian's hand in his own feels more  _right_  than anything else ever has in his entire life.

It feels as though ages have passed since Sebastian last spoke, and when he finally does, it catches Hunter off guard. He looks up quickly, but he still doesn't quite catch what Sebastian says. In the end, it doesn't matter much, because Sebastian is already tugging him forward. Hunter expects an embrace, something of the comforting variety, but what he gets instead is something else entirely.

Sebastian releases his hand in order to reach upwards and cup his face, his fingers framing Hunter's cheek. Hunter's knees are wedged awkwardly in between them, and he has to grasp at Sebastian's shoulders in order not to tip forward, until Sebastian settles his free arm around Hunter's waist and pulls him the rest of the way in. He hovers over Sebastian's form, his fingers uncurling from the man's shirt and slipping upwards to curve around the side of his neck, and the two of them are merely watching each other, Hunter's breathing gone shallow as Sebastian's thumb traces the edge of his jaw.

"I definitely want to kiss you now," he whispers.

Hunter swallows past the lump in his throat as he drops his forehead against Sebastian's and breathes, "okay."

And Sebastian's mouth touches his own.

It isn't earth-shattering. The ground doesn't move beneath their feet, and it doesn't feel as though Hunter has finally found everything he's been searching for in life. The kiss doesn't complete him, doesn't fill all of the empty corners of his soul. However, it doesn't  _have_ to. Sebastian's lips are soft and warm, and he cradles Hunter's face delicately, as if he is afraid that the man in his arms might break. Hunter's eyes fall shut and all he can do is press his body closer, closer, eliminating the miniscule space between them and burying himself in the comfort that is  _Sebastian._

His fingers have found their way into Sebastian's hair, and when the other man goes to deepen the kiss, parting his lips feels as natural to Hunter as breathing. His heart keeps stutter-stopping in his chest, a beat here, a flutter there, and all he can taste and feel and hear is Sebastian. His mouth, his hands, his tanned skin beneath the brush of Hunter's fingertips, the stilted sound of his breathing whenever the kiss breaks and he pants against Hunter's still-open mouth.

It's not perfect. Hunter feels too hot, all over, and their noses bump and their teeth clack, but it's still something. Something good, and pure, and real.

Sebastian's mouth touches his jaw, his neck. He breathes in deeply against the hollow of Hunter's throat, the air tickling against Hunter's skin, and then pulls back slightly and lifts Hunter's hand to his lips. He turns his wrist over, gently, kissing the looping black scrawl, his mouth pressed to Hunter's pulse point.

And for the first time in almost nine years, Hunter feels truly alive.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Hunter doesn't know how long they stay there.

Sebastian's fingertips trace aimless patterns along his shoulder blades, his back, and Hunter ends up practically on the man's lap, his nose tucked up against Sebastian's jaw. Every few moments, Sebastian's hands will wander and he will tip Hunter's chin upwards with gentle fingers, their mouths meeting in a soft kiss that is punctuated by the curling of Hunter's palms against Sebastian's waist. The moment is so easy, so... _domestic_ , and Hunter finds himself searching out Sebastian's mouth on his own soon enough, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.

After awhile, Sebastian leans his head back slightly and puts a small distance between their faces, his eyes dark as he scans them across Hunter's expression. He slips his hand around the back of Hunter's neck, his thumb stroking along the sharp line of the other man's jaw. Meanwhile, Hunter's eyes fall shut, and he exhales quietly, listening to the soft sound of Sebastian's breathing as his chest rises and falls against his own.

"This doesn't feel wrong to me," Sebastian eventually whispers. Hunter's eyes flutter open again, and he swallows as his throat suddenly refuses to work. Sebastian's features are softened, and his voice is so painfully honest that something inside of Hunter's chest feels as if it's been knocked loose at the words. His breathing goes shallow, and all he can do is seek out Sebastian's mouth once more, capturing his lips and sighing out quietly as his mouth opens and Sebastian tugs him impossibly closer.

Something is different, this time; the kiss is more hurried, but still just as intimate, as Sebastian worries at the flesh of Hunter's bottom lip and Hunter's fingers find their way into Sebastian's hair. His skin burns every time it brushes against Sebastian's, and his stomach is a nervous jumble of knots inside of him, twisting around and sending warmth spiraling through him. It's a new sensation, yet familiar at the same time. Hunter is overcome by the sudden urge to lose himself in Sebastian completely, to hide away in the soft pressure of his mouth and the long lines of his body.

This is why he doesn't protest when Sebastian breaks the kiss again and maneuvers Hunter to his feet, his long fingers wrapping around Hunter's wrist and pulling him down the hall. No words are spoken. With each step, the uncertainty in Hunter's chest feathers outwards just a little bit more, but it isn't an all-consuming feeling, like that night with Eli. If anything, the muted sound of the bedroom door closing behind them and the way that Sebastian's hands immediately search out his waist and reel him in feel /right/ in a way that nothing else ever has.

Hunter may not have much, but at least he can have this.

His shirt ends up on the floor beside them, and then Sebastian's hands are stroking across his bare shoulders and down the planes of his chest. The touches send a small shudder running through him, and Hunter swallows thickly as his eyes search out Sebastian's in the darkness of the room. He can hardly make out the man's gaze, except for the small glint to them and the way they stare down at Hunter in a way that is almost...reverent. The  _something_  from earlier that had been knocked loose inside of his chest seems to unfasten even more, and Hunter's breath hitches. He allows Sebastian to pull him back down onto the bed, the other man's own shirt being shed in the process as well, and after that, all Hunter is aware of is  _skin_. Sebastian's heartbeat is a steady thrum against his own, sweat beginning to pool in the hollow of his throat, and Hunter licks it away, his hands trailing along Sebastian's sides and over his abdomen.

He's beautiful.

With his hair mussed and his mouth swollen from kissing, and the miles and miles of tanned skin that are his torso. There are freckles scattered across his shoulders that Hunter can faintly see now that his eyes have adjusted, and he kisses them, mouthing along the skin and pausing every few seconds to hover over a particularly dark spot. The rest of their clothes are thrown to the floor a few moments later, and when Sebastian presses fully against him, with nothing between them, the name on Hunter's wrist feels like nothing more than a distant memory. He revels in it.

*

When he wakes up, Sebastian is gone.

Hunter has to take a few minutes to process, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown open haphazardly at his side, but Sebastian's pillow is still warm, and Hunter rolls over to tuck the blankets up around his naked body and burrow into Sebastian's recently-vacated spot. He doesn't panic at the man's absence, nor is he struck by any bouts of remorse or regret, and it's  _incredible_. Hunter just feels comfortable, secure, like waking up in Sebastian's bed is something that should have become a regular occurrence a long, long time ago.

He notices the folded piece of paper on the nightstand a second later. One of Hunter's hands snakes out from beneath the sheets and grabs onto it, pulling it closer so that he can squint and attempt to make out the words.

_Kurt called me in. Didn't want to wake you. Back in a few hours. -S_ The sight of Kurt's name in Sebastian's scribbled handwriting diminishes Hunter's good mood somewhat, and he frowns. It's too late now to do much, but he can only hope that Kurt and Blaine handle the situation carefully- that they don't blow it out of proportion, or worse, shut Sebastian out completely. After all, Hunter knows firsthand how that usually works out, and he  _doesn't_  want that for Sebastian.

Sighing, he sits up in bed and replaces the paper back onto the nightstand before scratching absently at his chest. He has a few hours to kill, but he knows that he won't be able to fall back asleep now that he's too busy worrying about Sebastian. He can't help but remember Blaine's grinning face from yesterday morning, how he'd seemed so at-ease and content. Hunter doesn't want that change. He doesn't want Blaine to feel burdened by the weight of an unreturned bond, and he doesn't want Sebastian to feel guilty for being the source of that burden. Once again, it is a lose-lose situation, and Hunter is helpless to aid it.

He decides to call Nick.

Scouring the ground for his discarded pants, he digs his phone out of his pocket and dials his friend's number before taking a seat back on the bed. It rings four or five times before Nick finally picks up and says, "hey."

The sound of his friend's voice instantly calms him, and Hunter finds himself smiling as he looks down and plucks at the edge of Sebastian's comforter. "Hey."

"What's up, man? Haven't talked to you in awhile," Nick replies, but the statement is casual, not accusatory like it could be. Hunter forgets sometimes just how lucky he is to have someone as level-headed and understanding as Nick. He could have just as easily lost the other man after high school, or somewhere along the way, but for some reason, both Nick  _and_  Jeff have held fast, refusing to let go of him completely.

Hunter is grateful.

"I know. I've been...good, though. Really good," he answers a moment later. "I'm glad I came back."

"Yeah?" Nick affirms, and his tone softens. "That's good to hear, Hunter. What have you been up to?"

So he tells Nick about everything, starting with his current living arrangements with Sam, and then telling him about Quinn, and Jesse and Rachel, and of course, Amelia. His voice smooths over as he speaks of his (basically) niece, and he recounts some of the tales of her improved walking and talking skills, grinning as the image of her stumbling around comes to mind. As he speaks, he realizes that he really hadn't been lying when he'd said that he was doing well; he is. It's the best he's felt in what seems like forever.

And a large part of that is due to Sebastian.

He saves that for last, after he's told Nick everything else. Nick had been the very first one to encourage him, to try and get him to see that maybe something with Sebastian wouldn't be all bad. That it could work. Hunter had shut him down immediately at the time, the memories of Eli and his struggles over his bond with Jesse too prominent, but now, he can see that even back then, the suggestion had made sense.

Nick catches on as soon as Hunter first murmurs Sebastian's name into the phone. There is a long moment of silence on the other end, before he eventually mutters, "he's good for you. I could see it years ago, and I can tell that it still stands now. Don't over think things, okay? Just...let them be. You deserve this, Hunter."

The inexplicable urge to cry slams into Hunter after Nick is finished speaking, and his words catch in his throat, a stinging sensation forming in the backs of his eyes. He has to inhale deeply and give a soft sniffle before he can talk again, but when he does, Hunter's tone is rough with gratitude, and there is a watery smile on his face.

"Thanks, Nick," he breathes.

*

He spends the rest of the morning out in the main area of the apartment, a borrowed pair of Sebastian's too-long sweatpants rolled up over his hips. The fabric still drags at his feet, but Hunter doesn't mind. He curls up on Sebastian's couch after digging through the man's DVD collection, and ends up watching the original  _Spider-Man_ , snickering at the special effects and Toby Maguire's mediocre acting. By the end of the film, the rumble of his stomach has become impossible to ignore, so he climbs up to his feet and stretches the kinks out of his back before wandering into the kitchen to find something to eat.

That's how Sebastian finds him about twenty minutes later, just as Hunter is flipping over his pancakes from their spot on the stove (after a dedicated search of Sebastian's kitchen had revealed there was no skillet to be found). He is humming a random tune beneath his breath, setting the spatula down on the counter next to him, when a pair of arms suddenly circles his waist and causes him to jerk in surprise. Sebastian drops a kiss onto his bare shoulder, then leans up to press another against his temple, and Hunter sags back into the embrace, his fingers falling to rest over Sebastian's own as they settle against his abdomen.

"I see you've made yourself at home," Sebastian murmurs.

Hunter shrugs, as much as he can manage to under Sebastian's hold, and brushes his thumb along the man's knuckles. "How did it go?" he asks quietly.

Sebastian's next breath is drawn out, a quiet sound in Hunter's ear. "Well, he didn't fire me," he says. "Blaine was there."

Hunter stiffens minutely at the admission, but Sebastian senses the movement and squeezes him reassuringly. "He was...he wasn't mad, if that's what you're thinking. I honestly think that both of them were just confused, more than anything. And Blaine...I could tell he felt horrible. But I told him that it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't mine either. I couldn't do anything about it, and I wasn't going to. That seemed to calm Kurt down somewhat."

"So they're...okay?" Hunter asks hesitantly.

"They will be," Sebastian mutters. "They handled it well, in all honesty. I'd been expecting the worst. I'm just glad they proved me wrong."

The relief washes over Hunter, slowly but surely, and he lets out a gentle exhale. But there is one more thing he wants to ask.

"Are  _you_  okay?" he questions softly.

Sebastian loosens one of his hands from its spot on Hunter's stomach and reaches up, cupping the base of Hunter's chin and tipping it sideways slightly so that he can see the man's face. The corners of his mouth are tipped upwards, and Hunter reflexively smiles back, still waiting for a response.

"You're in my kitchen, wearing a pair of my sweatpants while making breakfast," he replies softly, dipping down to brush their noses together. "I'm awesome."

*

Things with Sebastian are good, but Hunter doesn't tell anyone. He doesn't need to.

It is written all over his face. When he meets up with Quinn a few days later, she just spots his dopey grin and smiles indulgently, but doesn't say anything. She comes over for the afternoon, and she tells him about her class, what the children have been up to and how she's been doing with things. Teaching has turned Quinn into a completely different person, and though that phantom pain is still occasionally present in her eyes, she seems happy now, too. Her previously soft-spoken demeanor has developed into something more outgoing, leaving her more comfortable in her own skin, and Hunter is so unbelievably proud.

Sam arrives home that evening while Quinn is still there, and he ends up joining in on the conversation after a few stuttered exchanges and nervous looks in Quinn's direction. They dance around each other for the next couple of hours while Hunter looks on in amusement, and when he finally catches Quinn's eye from across the table, it is his turn to shoot her a knowing smile. Her cheeks flush as she shakes her head and looks away, but when she leaves later on, Sam embraces her in a way that is just on the far side of "friendly."

Hunter claps his roommate on the shoulder after the door closes and simply says, "go for it."

*

The only ones who  _don't_  seem to know about Sebastian are Rachel and Jesse.

Hunter heads over to their apartment to visit Amelia about once a week, and it just doesn't come up. He spends most of his time toting Amelia around the city, anyway, taking her out to Central Park to feed the birds or buying her ice cream at the gelato shop down the street. She is growing more and more as the weeks pass, her hair getting longer and her steps becoming steadier. Hunter absolutely adores her, and more often than not, he is reluctant to take her back home at the end of the day. Rachel will laugh and tell him that he makes a great uncle, while Jesse just smiles lopsidedly, a hint of pride shining in his gaze. And that's exactly the thing- his name remains on Hunter's wrist, but it's like the bond is nearly  _invisible_. Hunter hardly feels anything more than a kind of brotherly affection whenever he sees Jesse, now, and it's liberating. He knows that the bond is still there, and he's just gotten better at ignoring it, but if he imagines hard enough, he can pretend that it has somehow disappeared for good. He can pretend that Sebastian is the only one he wants, and it works, the majority of the time.

Either way, Hunter just doesn't deem it necessary to tell his best friend about Sebastian. It doesn't seem important, because it doesn't  _change_  anything. Jesse will find out when he finds out, and everything will go on as normal. He isn't worried about it.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have been.

*

The invitation to Kurt and Blaine's wedding arrives in the mail some weeks later, and both he and Sam are invited. Hunter is shocked that it's taken so long, in all honesty, but still, the first thing he does is call Sebastian, the decorated card clutched tightly between his fingers.

(He still knows how well  _he'd_  handled Jesse and Rachel's wedding, after all.)

It's midday, so Sebastian is working, but he still answers on the third ring, greeting Hunter with a quiet, "what's up?"

"Did you know about Kurt and Blaine?" Hunter asks, straight up, because he knows that Sebastian doesn't need the sugar-coated crap. That isn't who he is, and sure enough, when he replies, his tone hasn't changed. He is still utterly calm, no signs of sadness in his voice, and Hunter doesn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed.

"They called me the day they mailed the invitations," Sebastian responds smoothly, not missing a beat. "You'll be my plus-one, right?"

Hunter manages to mask his surprise at Sebastian's reaction long enough to say, "or you'll be  _my_  plus-one. Chicken or fish, darling?"

Sebastian laughs, and the sound is genuine enough that Hunter relaxes. He is confident that he can read Sebastian well enough to recognize when he is lying or holding something back, and that if he really  _weren't_  okay over the wedding, Hunter would notice.

A deep breath escapes his lungs, and he grins when Sebastian snarks, "you're shorter. That automatically makes you the plus-one."

"That's really no fair at all," Hunter complains. "Also, on behalf of all humans that fall into the 'shorter' category, I'm offended."

"You're distracting me from work," Sebastian attempts.

Hunter snorts. "You insulted me first, it's the least I can do."

They do eventually agree to write each other's names on their invitations, but they scratch out the 'plus-one' box. And if maybe Hunter checks 'fish' beside Sebastian's name despite the fact that the other man absolutely hates seafood, well, hopefully Kurt and Blaine just look at Sebastian's own invitation first.

*

The amount of times Hunter has seen Sebastian in a suit does little to lessen his appreciation for the sight. He immediately reaches out and adjust the other man's tie (even if it is already perfectly straight), and Sebastian swats at his hands and grumbles playfully before insisting that they head to the church so that they aren't late for the ceremony. Hunter takes the length of the twenty-minute drive over to study Sebastian's features for any signs of discomfort or worry, and is incredibly glad when he doesn't find any.

Sebastian had taken the news of the wedding in stride, and the months leading up to it were no different than before- Sebastian still headed off to work each day at  _Hummel & Associates_, then returned home every night with little fanfare, occasionally to find Hunter waiting for him, and nothing changed. He remained his warm, collected self, and if anything, Hunter feels as though they've grown even closer over the past weeks. His relationship with Sebastian has maintained the same simplicity it always has. Their physical closeness has, of course, grown monumentally, but it's  _good_. There still isn't that sense of disgust or unwillingness that Hunter had experienced years ago at the bar, and every time he's with Sebastian, he just feels...content. As complete as he can possibly be while someone else's name remains on his wrist.

They make it to the church in plenty of time, and people are still filing in as they approach the doors and Hunter scans the crowd for any signs of Quinn or Sam. It had only taken minimal amounts of convincing for Sam to ask Quinn to attend as his date, and the thought makes Hunter feel stupidly giddy. He just wants his two best friends to have a chance at (nearly) real happiness, and if they can find that in each other, all the better.

He finally spots them in one of the pews towards the middle of the church, and Sam waves enthusiastically at him as he grabs onto Sebastian's hand and pulls him along towards them. Sebastian chuckles and murmurs  _easy there, tiger_ , but Hunter just rolls his eyes and ignores him as they drop onto the wooden bench beside Quinn and Sam, his attention already elsewhere.

"Hey," he greets them, and Sam nods in acknowledgment while Quinn smiles and leans over, pulling him in for a quick hug.

"I swear, you two and your formalwear," she exclaims. Hunter laughs, and from his other side, Sebastian reaches out to clap Sam on the shoulder and give Quinn's elbow a soft squeeze, his mouth curling upwards.

"We'll take that as a compliment," he responds.

"Oh, it was one," Quinn assures, laughing quietly. They settle back into their seats and end up in a hushed conversation, making casual chit-chat with each other as they wait for the ceremony to begin. Sebastian's body is a warm weight where it is pressed up against Hunter's side, and at one point, he rests his hand over Sebastian's knee and squeezes gently. Sebastian turns his gaze to Hunter and offers him a small, tight-lipped smile, and Hunter smiles back, his palm continuing to rest against Sebastian's leg.

"You doing okay?" he asks quietly.

Sebastian nods slowly, his hand falling to cover Hunter's and slide their fingers together. "I'm fine. I promise."

"If you wanna go...just say something, alright?" What Hunter doesn't add is,  _because I know what it feels like_ , and Sebastian's smile morphs into one of gratitude, his eyes dimming into something gentler, fonder. He raises Hunter's hand to his lips and presses his mouth softly to the inside of his wrist, a spot that has become one of his favorites. Each time, it is as if he is attempting to erase the black ink there and replace it with his own name, and the touch is so heartfelt that in all other respects, it works. The writing is a mere physical attribute that will just never fade.

It isn't so bothersome anymore, though.

The ceremony itself is short and basic, yet still perfect. Kurt and Blaine both look as handsome as ever, and they stare at each other with so much adoration that Hunter nearly aches on Sebastian's behalf.

But the man at his side remains calm, happy, even, as he watches the ceremony with the tiniest of smiles on his face. Hunter keeps their fingers laced the entire time, an act of reassurance, and he can't help but admire Sebastian's strength. He'd like to think that he has just a little bit to do with it, but Sebastian has always been the more rational between the two of them. It makes sense that he maintains his cool, even under the current circumstances.

The reception is just as simple, string lights and soft music and a quiet chatter filling the room. Hunter hasn't seen Jesse or Rachel all night- he knows that they've been invited, Kurt is good friends with Rachel, after all- but he doesn't pay them much more than a passing thought. Sam and Sebastian are deep in conversation over something sports related, and Quinn is humming along quietly to the music as Hunter takes a sip from his water glass. It is later on in the night, the toasts and speeches and first dances having all passed, and Hunter allows himself to fall into the serenity of the moment. It is relaxed, peaceful, and he closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him.

"Dance with me?" Sebastian murmurs into his ear a long minute later, and Hunter's eyes flutter open, his gaze moving sideways to where Sebastian is smiling hopefully at him. He stretches out a hand, and Hunter takes it, the other man leading him out to the dance floor and pulling him in. One of Sebastian's palms falls to his waist, while the other grasps Hunter's own hand and directs him into a slow sway, their cheeks pressed together and Hunter's chin tucked into Sebastian's shoulder. They stay like that for a long while, just moving back and forth to the music, and Hunter is eventually lulled into a state of calmness that is only broken when Sebastian speaks again.

"Thanks for the fish, by the way," he says quietly, and Hunter chuckles weakly against Sebastian's chest before peering up at the other man. His eyes are slanted, but there is a small smile on his face, and Hunter knows that the other man doesn't really care, not after Hunter had split his chicken entree with him.

Mouth spreading into a grin, Hunter responds "sorry" in a manner that is completely unapologetic, and Sebastian shakes his head.

"I just can't believe Kurt and Blaine went along with it," he scoffs. "Don't they know me better than that?"

"You're just fun to get a rile out of," Hunter answers.

"You're lucky I like you so much," Sebastian grumbles, and Hunter feels his own grin widen as he tips his head back again and plants a light kiss on Sebastian's jaw in an unspoken apology. His stomach flutters a bit at the words, and he moves to rest his cheek against Sebastian's, their matched footsteps never faltering.

"That's good, because I sort of like you, too," he replies finally. Sebastian just hums and tightens his hold on Hunter's hip as they move, and Hunter is about to suggest they go drag Sam and Quinn onto the dance floor when someone catches his eye from across the room.

Jesse.

Hunter stares over Sebastian's shoulder in confusion, his chest tightening slightly. Jesse looks...surprised? Irritated? His features are twisted and his mouth is turned down, and he watches Hunter and Sebastian from beneath furrowed brows. Hunter doesn't even  _know_  what to think. He hasn't seen Jesse all night, and yes, he hadn't told him about Sebastian, but why is his expression so displeased?

Something pangs against Hunter's rib cage, and he swallows uncomfortably. There is an all-too-familiar sensation slithering through him, pulling at his limbs and directing every ounce of his attention to where his best friend is sitting on the opposite side of the room. Hunter steadfastly tries to ignore it, but it refuses to heed, pulling at him and invading his thoughts.  _Jesse, Jesse_ , it tells him, and Hunter clenches his eyes shut. Screams  _Sebastian_  internally, tries to focus on the man in front of him, but it's as if every step he's taken has abruptly reversed. Sebastian's hands suddenly feel foreign, and Hunter freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

"Hunter?" Sebastian calls out instantly, stepping back and sliding his hands up to Hunter's shoulders. "What's wrong? Hunt?"

Hunter is choking on his own breath, the nickname clamping down and suffocating him.  _Hunt._

Only Jesse calls him that.

_Jesse._

"Hunter," Sebastian repeats weakly. A few sets of eyes are beginning to travel their way, and Hunter doesn't want to make a scene- he doesn't. He forces himself to inhale a sharp lungful of air and then backs out of Sebastian's grasp, the man's arms dropping uselessly back to his sides.

"I just- I'll be right back," he croaks out, before spinning on his heel and making his way towards the door. Sebastian doesn't move to follow him, watching instead with a defeated slump to his shoulders, and Hunter doesn't look back again. He makes it outside and slumps back against the wall the moment the fresh air hits his face, his hands coming up to cradle his head as furiously attempts to erase the ache in his gut.

He'd thought he was  _past_  this, dammit.

Shakily, he raises his head and stares down at the name on his wrist, willing it to disappear. Where did these feelings even come from? Why is this happening  _now_ , after all this time?

The sound of the door opening snaps him out of his sulking, and his stomach drops to his feet when he sees who has decided to join him. Jesse's expression is still somber, his eyes calculating as he stares over at Hunter, and he crosses the short distance between them in a few steps, his voice utterly neutral when he speaks.

"You and Sebastian, huh?" he asks quietly.

Hunter's gut churns roughly at the mention of Sebastian's name, and he quickly looks away, his hands curling into fists where they rest at his sides. "Yeah," he answers shakily, and he doesn't know why it feels so much like betrayal as he says it, the downward twist to Jesse's lips leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jesse inquires, after an uncomfortable pause. Hunter scowls.

"Didn't know I was supposed to," he grits out. "What do you want, Jesse?"

Jesse takes another step closer, and the nearness causes Hunter's heartbeat to pick up tenfold in a way that he absolutely  _hates._  Sebastian is inside, probably going mad over wondering what had caused Hunter to bolt away from him like that, but Jesse is  _here,_  bringing back every single thought and every single sensation that Hunter had thought he'd escaped from months ago.

"Is that—" Jesse begins, then stops, seeming to ponder over his words. "Is that even...you know, possible?"

"What, me being with someone else when I'm apparently supposed to love you?" Hunter snaps back, and Jesse recoils as if he's been slapped. "Why are you even asking me that? Can't I just be  _happy,_ Jesse? Please?"

His voice cracks on the last word, and for the umpteenth time, he is wishing that he could just carve the name out of his wrist, separating himself from this stupid, stupid bond so that he can move on fully and completely. And he'd been so sure that he'd been doing exactly that with Sebastian, but one look from across a room, and he's fucked it all up again. He doesn't know if Jesse is jealous, or concerned, or even just genuinely curious, but Hunter doesn't care. He is suddenly seething with anger at his best friend, at himself, and at the universe.

He'd been  _so close._ Why did Jesse have to do this?

"Look, I don't know what your issue is," he says lowly, "but I'm not going to humor your selfish questions right now. I'm going back inside to Sebastian, who, for your information, has actually managed to make me forget about this fucking bond. He makes me really,  _really_ happy Jesse, and your name might be on my wrist, but that doesn't mean anything, okay? You're my best friend, even when you are being a royal prick. And that's enough for me now. So just let this go and leave it be. I'm  _begging_  you."

His speech is followed by a quiet so stifling that Hunter can't take it. He spins around on his heel and shoves any and all thoughts of Jesse to the furthest parts of his mind, making his way back towards the door so that he can head inside and apologize to Sebastian. His hand is just hovering above the door handle when Jesse's near-whispered  _I'm sorry_  reaches his ears, and Hunter pauses to wipe furiously at his eyes in an attempt to steady himself, but doesn't turn around.

Someone is waiting for him, after all.

 


	13. Chapter 13

When Hunter gets back inside, Sebastian is nowhere to be seen.

It's like a punch to the gut, and Hunter nearly doubles over right there in the doorway, because he really has fucked it up this time. Sebastian is gone, probably assuming the worst, and Hunter doesn't know what to  _do._  It feels as though a shard of glass has lodged itself into his throat, and his breathing has gone raspy. His eyes scan the room wildly, flitting over Kurt and Blaine, over Rachel, until they finally stop on Sam and Quinn where they are seated at their table in the corner. Hunter crosses the floor on trembling legs, his fingers beginning to shake where they rest at his sides, and Quinn looks up as he approaches them, her face already falling.

"I don't know where he went," she murmurs apologetically. "He just said he was leaving. I'm sorry, Hunter."

Hunter tries to ignore the way his heart sinks inside of his chest, giving Quinn a stilted nod as he shoves his quaking fingers into his pockets. "I've—I have to go."

Quinn merely smiles sadly up at him, her expression one of understanding, while Sam stands and offers him an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

"Don't freak out," he says. "Fix it."

But Hunter is already two steps ahead of him.

*

Sebastian's door is unlocked when Hunter arrives about a half hour later, and he takes that as a sign that Sebastian has been hoping he'd show up.

(That has to mean something, doesn't it?)

He enters quietly, slipping off his shoes by the door and then padding down the hall towards Sebastian's bedroom. The apartment is silent, the only sound coming from the clock on the wall as it ticks back and forth. Hunter can't seem to prevent the apprehension from curling in his stomach as he approaches the bedroom door, which is cracked open slightly, but there are no signs of movement on the other side.

Hunter steels himself and carefully pushes the door open the rest of the way.

Sebastian is awake, seated on the edge of the bed with his hands resting on his knees. He glances up when Hunter walks inside, their eyes meeting in the darkness, and Hunter swallows thickly as he takes another step forward.

"Sebastian—" he begins quietly, but the other man raises a hand to stop him.

"Don't," he murmurs, dropping his gaze back down to his lap. "Just don't."

The complete lack of emotion in the words terrifies Hunter more than anything, and he suddenly wants to fall to his knees and plead, explain to Sebastian that it was the bond, that it hadn't meant anything, that he shouldn't have left—

But that would be lying. Because the bond will  _always_ mean something, whether Hunter wants it to or not, and why can't he just be  _rid of it?_

So Hunter keeps his mouth shut and merely closes the rest of the distance between them, seating himself hesitantly on the bed next to Sebastian. The other man still refuses to look at him, his hands wringing together in his lap, and Hunter tries to focus on the sound of his own breaths, which are far too loud in the constricting stillness of the room.

Minutes later, Sebastian speaks.

"It's sort of ironic, isn't it?" he asks softly.

Hunter's head jerks sideways at the words, his brows furrowing, but Sebastian is turned away, a wry smile on his lips. "I'm the one who just watched my supposed soulmate get married to someone else, but you're the one who has the meltdown. It's almost funny."

 _Except that it's_ _ **not,**_ Hunter thinks. He aches to reach out and close his hand over Sebastian's own, to apologize, but he doesn't know how much that would mean at this point. He isn't used to this sense of discomfort around Sebastian.

And he loathes it.

"Please, just talk to me," Hunter whispers.

At last, Sebastian glances his way, but Hunter isn't prepared for what he sees on the other man's features. His eyes are filled with so much resignation that it slams into Hunter like a brick wall, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground beneath them. Sebastian is just  _sad,_ his gaze utterly defeated, and Hunter's heart seems to fracture inside of his chest, crystallizing into a million tiny pieces and shattering into the flesh of his insides. Almost automatically, he reaches out, but Sebastian leans away, just a fraction, and the movement is a knife in Hunter's side.

This is ruined. He's completely ruined it.

"What do you want me to say?" Sebastian replies, his tone somber, and Hunter's hand falls back to his side, curling into a tight fist. "Should I tell you that everything's fine? That this'll work out? Because tonight seriously proves otherwise, Hunter."

The use of his name causes the beginnings of a lump to form in his throat, and he croaks, "it isn't my fault."

"I know it's not," Sebastian mumbles, "but that doesn't change anything. We were—lucky, for awhile. But you're always going to come right back to Jesse, and I can't...deal with that. I just can't."

 _I want you to only want_ _ **me,**_ he is saying, and Hunter wants to cry. It isn't fucking  _fair._  He  _does_ want Sebastian, with every fiber of his being. This much he knows. But still, for some inexplicable reason, he also wants  _Jesse,_  and it's cruel and torturous and all kinds of fucked up, but there isn't a thing he can do about it.

He'd been so close. He thought he had a grip on this bond, and now it's all spiraling out of his control at the worst time possible.

His chest feels tight, and Hunter inhales a sharp breath, his lungs aching as the air is pulled inwards. "I came back for you," he chokes out, "I—I left Jesse there. I  _know_  that doesn't mean much, in the grand scheme of things, but it means  _something,_  doesn't it?"

Hunter's hands seek out Sebastian's own, and this time, the other man doesn't pull away. He knits their fingers together, instead, and Hunter sighs shakily before continuing, his eyes scanning across Sebastian's nearly unreadable expression. "I told you that I wasn't strong. I've done my best to fight this, every single day, but sometimes, I still slip up. And I'm sorry, Sebastian," Hunter whispers. His voice is all but pleading, and he stares over at Sebastian in desperation, his stomach twisting nervously. "I'm sorry I'm not as strong as you. I'm sorry that I can't seem to shake this bond completely, but you have to believe me when I say that I care about you."

Sebastian's fingers twitch almost imperceptibly between Hunter's own, and Hunter can see the moment that the words seem to penetrate, some of the despair that had been coloring Sebastian's features seeming to wear off, just slightly. He looks back at Hunter in obvious uncertainty, his mouth twisted and his forehead wrinkled as he mumbles, "but you can't care about me enough."

"You're wrong," Hunter breathes, squeezing Sebastian's hands in reassurance. " _You_ are the most important person in my life. Not Jesse. And that's because I didn't pick Jesse. I didn't have a choice when it came to him—but you, I did get to choose  _you._ "

The sound of Sebastian's breath hitching is audible as a silence falls over them, and Hunter's palms are still wound tightly around Sebastian's own, a few scarce inches of space separating their bodies. Hunter wants nothing more than to reel Sebastian in and hold on for dear life, but he has already done his part, laid all of himself out on the line. It should be absolutely terrifying, knowing that every inch of him and his thoughts and emotions are now out in plain sight for the other man to see, but all Hunter feels is a strange sense of calm that washes over him. Even from the beginning, Sebastian has always understood him better than anyone else. He could read Hunter's mind, practically, just by blinking an eye, or recognizing an absent gesture—and it should have been disconcerting, possibly even worrisome.

It never was. The only thing Hunter ever experienced was a form of security in knowing that there  _was_ someone out there who saw him for who he truly was.

All of him.

And isn't that what a soulmate is all about?

The thought barrels into him at full speed, knocking him breathless and wiping any and all thoughts from his mind.  _Soulmate._ There is already a name on his wrist and a physical pull in his chest for someone else, but what has that ever meant, exactly? A soulmate isn't just a tie between two beings, drawing them together—that is just the start. There is still an underlying need for honesty, for the growth of a relationship between two people, the comprehension of  _who_ the other is and all that they stand for.

Jesse is his best friend. He knows about Hunter's childhood, about his likes and dislikes. They've shared moments together that Hunter wouldn't trade for the world.

But  _Sebastian._  There is a kinship between them that has only served to bind them closer together, and Sebastian just  _gets him,_  has since that very first day at  _Hummel & Associates. _He can read Hunter like an open book, and has never faltered in giving Hunter what he needs, whether it be a friend, or a shoulder to cry on, or a source of physical intimacy. He is beautiful and courageous in ways that Hunter endlessly admires. His story and his experiences and all of his decisions have taught Hunter more than anyone else that it is  _okay_  to not be okay once in awhile, but most of all, that it is not up to the hands of some undefined bond to determine his life's path for him.

That is up to Hunter, and Hunter alone.

The realization dawns on him, and he gazes across at Sebastian with wide eyes and bated breath. The other man is utterly silent, but he stares right back at Hunter, his features slowly beginning to soften as Hunter's earlier words sink in further and leave him to ponder them.

The ball is in Sebastian's court now.

"You chose me," he repeats in a hushed voice, and Hunter suddenly can't speak. He nods slowly, hopes that his sincerity and everything he feels for the man sitting beside him are conveyed in his eyes, because he can't seem to formulate anything else.

But Sebastian seems to understand. He always does.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Sebastian asks a beat later, and it almost sounds cliché as it comes out of his mouth, but Hunter listens, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. "You told me that you didn't have anything except your bookstore. And later, I said to you..."

" _You have me,_ " Hunter echoes, and the words are raspy, quiet as they leave his lips. He blinks over at Sebastian, who is gazing back at him with such honesty that it fills Hunter all the way down to his core.

"I look at my wrist now, and it's like Blaine's name isn't even there," Sebastian whispers. "I see yours."

They both reach out at the same time, Hunter's hands coming up to grasp at Sebastian's shoulders as the other man cups his face and their mouths meet somewhere in the middle. It feels like coming  _home,_  and Hunter shuts his eyes and gives himself up to the sensations as they slip backwards onto the bed and Sebastian settles on top of him. Their lips never leave one another's, Sebastian taking his time with mouth, and teeth, and tongue, and soon enough, Hunter is breathless, his fingers grappling at Sebastian's back as he rucks the man's dress shirt upwards, untucking it from his slacks so that he can reach skin.

Sebastian is warm and firm against him, their bodies slotting together like two pieces of the same puzzle. It is different from the other times, yet still exactly the same, because it is Hunter and Sebastian. They push and pull at each other, kiss and touch and learn their way about each other's body in ways that are so effortless, it hardly feels real.

And Hunter  _knows._  This is what it's supposed to feel like—this is everything he's been missing for the past eight years. The closeness, the security, the passion, and the unadulterated wave of  _rightness,_  all rolled into one. It's almost overwhelming, but Sebastian soothes him with soft words and even softer touches, his gentle fingers trailing along Hunter's skin as if he is something to be revered. Which, maybe he is—in the eyes of someone. That  _someone_  being Sebastian.

They fall asleep in a tangled mess of naked limbs, like the intricate weaving of a homemade quilt. Legs and arms and torsos, all melded together into one, with Hunter's face resting against the crook of Sebastian's neck and their fingers safely intertwined. They don't speak, but Hunter would like to think that their movements have spoken for them, as he pushes the sweaty strands of Sebastian's hair away from his forehead and gazes at him in silent adoration.

Sebastian responds by reaching up and tucking his fingers around Hunter's straying hand, pulling it towards his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. Warmth unfurls from that single point of contact, stretching up Hunter's arm and ghosting through the rest of his body, and the gesture itself means more than the name on Hunter's skin ever will.

*

Something has changed.

And it isn't the fact that Sebastian's body is cocooned around his own, holding him in close with an arm splayed across his abdomen as the early morning sun peeks in through the edges of the curtains. Hunter's chest feels...strange, as if it is overflowing with a sort of contentedness that had not fully been there before.

As gently as possible, he turns his body around in Sebastian's arms, resting his head on the pillow beside him and gazing at Sebastian's slumbering form, his features slackened with sleep. The freckles on his nose sprinkle faintly along the skin and down to his cheeks, where his eyelashes rest, fanning outwards in a hypnotizing line. His mouth is parted ever so slightly, each breath a soft puff of air against Hunter's cheek, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythmic motion as the sheet remains strewn across his waist.

Hunter watches, enraptured. Something about the sight of Sebastian like this, so innocent and vulnerable, seems to grab hold inside of him and fill him with a sense of ease. Without thinking, he gently reaches out, touching his fingertips to the smooth line of Sebastian's jaw and reveling in the way his hand brushes over the warm skin.

His gaze then catches on the black ink that is tattooed to the inside of his wrist, and he freezes.

The looping letters of Jesse's name that have been there for years are gone, replaced with a cursive 'S,' followed by the rest of Sebastian's name, the writing stark and prominent against Hunter's skin. He blinks, thinking that maybe it's just an illusion. Is he really that desperate to forget Jesse that he's begun to hallucinate? Hunter almost wants to laugh, but it isn't funny at all, because the sight of Sebastian's name spreads a warmth through him that occupies the very corners of Hunter's soul. He's been alone and hopeless for so long that he doesn't think he can take something as stupid as a dream like this, because it feels so, so  _real._

But when he opens his eyes again, the name is  _still there,_  sprawling along his wrist in a way that is unmistakable.

A foreign sound escapes his throat, something between a gasp of relief and a helpless whimper, and Hunter has to bite down furiously on his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. The noise must somehow slip under the edges of Sebastian's subconscious, because a moment later, he is stirring at Hunter's side, a sleepy rumble reverberating out of his chest. He rolls one of his shoulders slowly and opens his eyes, his bleary gaze immediately finding Hunter's as he blinks the last few remnants of sleep away, and it appears to take another second before he registers the look on Hunter's face.

"Hunter?" he questions, his voice rough, and his features already begin to twist down in concern, his head lifting from the pillow as he slides a hand between them and hesitantly touches Hunter's cheek.

Hunter makes another undignified sound, this one just as garbled, as he darts his fingers up to cover Sebastian's own, the digits circling the other man's wrist. Sebastian's eyebrows furrow in confusion, and all Hunter can do is shake his head, the disbelief still heady in his gut.

" _Sebastian,_ " he finally manages, and he presses his thumb against the inside of Sebastian's wrist as it rests against his jaw. "Look."

He pulls Sebastian's hand away from his face and instead holds it in the small space between their bodies, his fingers cradling the man's palm as he carefully turns it over so that the underside of his arm is visible. Sure enough, the black writing there now reads the name  _Hunter,_ his name, and again, Hunter is struck by the urge to break down into tears. Beside him, he can hear the breath  _whoosh_ out of Sebastian's lungs, and then the other man is tugging anxiously at Hunter's own wrist, turning it over and spreading his fingers across the writing there.

"This is impossible," he chokes out, running his fingertips over the place where his name is now engraved onto Hunter's skin. "This doesn't happen. How—"

"I don't know," Hunter breathes. His voice breaks as soon as he opens his mouth, his eyes welling up so much that he can hardly see, but he doesn't  _care._ "Sebastian, you're—we're—"

" _Fuck,_ " Sebastian murmurs, and then he is looping his arm around Hunter's waist and pulling him in, their bodies aligning—dare he say it—perfectly. "Soulmates. We're soulmates."

He sounds breathless, more shocked than anything, but also  _happy,_  and it causes the tears pooling against Hunter's eyelids to spill over. He sniffs, burying his face against Sebastian's bare shoulder, and the other man merely holds him close, his arms impossibly tight as they lock around Hunter's middle.

"Quit crying, you sap," he mumbles, and Hunter gives a watery laugh, his tears wetting the skin at Sebastian's collarbone.

"Sorry," he croaks, smiling weakly against Sebastian's shoulder. "I'm just...happy."

Sebastian's mouth presses against his temple, and then he is loosening his grip on Hunter slightly so that he can pull back and trail a line of kisses down the side of his face, over his cheek and along his jaw until at last he reaches Hunter's mouth. Their lips come together, and this time, it  _is_ all-encompassing. It's as if everything Hunter has ever known is shaken upon its foundations, the world skidding to a halt and all time coming to a complete stop. The taste and the smell and the feel of  _Sebastian_  overcome him at once. The emptiest parts of his being have suddenly been filled, and his chest is light in a way that it's never been before.

Hunter is complete.

*

"Uncle Hunter?"

The sound of Amelia's high-pitched voice interrupts his musings, and Hunter gazes down at his niece, her small hand wrapped up in his own as they wander through Central Park on a quiet Sunday morning. There are a few other people about, mostly joggers and the elderly, basking in the peacefulness before the real day begins. Amelia is now almost five, her curly hair cascading in ringlets down to her shoulders, and her skin is a creamy white that screams innocence and purity in a way that Hunter adores.

He gives her a soft smile and stops walking, releasing her hand and squatting down in front of her so that they are at eye level. "What's up, Millie?"

She stares over at him, round eyes narrowed in a strange, four-and-a-half-year-old kind of precision that causes Hunter to tip his head in amusement. After a long minute, she asks, "are you and daddy friends again?"

Blinking in surprise, Hunter takes in the question, and finds that it takes a moment to come up with a sure answer. It's been a couple of years since he told Jesse off at Kurt and Blaine's wedding, since he woke up the next morning to a new name on his wrist and a real life ahead of him, but he and Jesse have definitely remained...distant. Hunter still comes to visit Amelia once a week, and he makes easy conversation with Rachel, acting civil towards Jesse, for the most part.

He wouldn't say they ever really  _stopped_ being friends, but perhaps Amelia is onto something. Things have been different, that much is for sure, and in an abrupt moment of clarity, Hunter realizes that he doesn't  _want_ them to be.

Jesse is his best friend, after all.

"We'll always be friends, sweetheart," he answers finally, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Amelia's ear. "Your daddy and I haven't always been nice to each other, but that doesn't mean we aren't friends. We fight like everyone else. It just takes some time to make up afterwards, that's all."

Amelia's tiny mouth twists in consideration, before she finally nods her head in acceptance. "Good," she declares, latching onto Hunter's hand and tugging at him to begin moving again. "Because I don't like it when people fight, and I never get to see 'Bastian when you and daddy are mad at each other. Can I see 'Bastian again soon? Please?"

Hunter squeezes his niece's hand gently while chuckling, his features immediately lighting up at the mention of Sebastian's nickname. "Tell you what. Why don't you and I go pick up some doughnuts, and then we can take them to 'Bastian right now?"

Amelia's face brightens, and she squeals enthusiastically, a skip attaching itself to her step as she pulls Hunter along. "I love doughnuts. C'mon, c'mon!"

*

It takes some time, but his relationship with Jesse does (finally) return to normal. Much of it happens thanks to Amelia, who often seems to butt in on their conversations with the insistence that they "be bestest friends again." Hunter adores his niece just a little bit more for it, and if he buys her a new stuffed animal that she's been eyeing as a silent form of thanks, well, no one else is the wiser.

In another surprising twist of fate, Nick's job transfers he and Jeff to New York, and suddenly, they are around all the time, pestering Hunter to no end and grilling Sebastian about everything under the sun. Quinn is still teaching at the elementary school, and she turns into an emotional mess when Hunter first shows her the name on his wrist, her mouth dropping open as Sam's name falls in a soft whisper from her lips. The two have been—dating, for the lack of a better word, but it is obvious that they both truly care for each other, and whether or not their situation morphs into something like Hunter and Sebastian's, they are both content. Kurt and Blaine still keep in touch as Sebastian continues his work at  _Hummel & Associates,_ but Hunter isn't blind to the fact that Blaine's number in particular seems to pop up on the man's cellphone more often as the time passes.

The business degree that's been sitting in a box for over ten years now even gets put to use when Hunter is hired at an accounting firm on the Upper West Side. It's the first _real_ job he's ever had, and he takes great pride in it, though there are days when he does miss the book shop fiercely. Sebastian comforts him by taking turns choosing a book off Hunter's shelf to read every few weeks, despite his earlier insistence that reading wasn't much of a hobby of his. He grows especially fond of  _The Hobbit_ and  _Catcher in the Rye,_  and every time Hunter catches Sebastian with a novel in his hands, it brightens his smile just a little bit more.

Not only is  _he_  complete, at last, but his life is as well, and there is no longer any waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Hunter is  _happy_ , along with everyone else that he loves, and it is something that still baffles him from time to time. After his twenty-first birthday, he'd been so sure that he was doomed to a lifetime of utter loneliness. He'd suffered through so much pain, so much heartbreak, that it seemed as though he could never recover. Nothing would ever work out for him, and he'd be trapped, sentenced to years of desolation.

But Sebastian had come along and changed everything.

And when, at the ripe age of thirty, Sebastian drops down onto one knee in the middle of Amelia's first grade classroom and says,  _I sort of want to marry you,_  all thirty-two of Hunter's years feel utterly inconsequential. Sebastian doesn't even have a ring, and Amelia is hugging her princess backpack to her stomach as she claps happily at Hunter's side, but Hunter doesn't even have to hesitate over his answer.

"It's a good thing I sort of want to marry you, too."


End file.
